Horrible
by Number One Fan of Journey
Summary: How would I describe the 45th Hunger Games? A myraid of shifting alliances, brutal deaths, hopeless romances... In one word, horrible. *Crossover: Some of the tributes bear quite a resemblance to countries we know... Sequel to Brutal.
1. No Exceptions

Author's Note: Welcome to my newest fiction. I really shouldn't be writing this, because I have other stories I should be writing on, but, in telling myself I was not going to do this, I managed to work out almost the entire plot. So write it I will.

To _Brutal _fans: Yes, a sequel. It will be the Games introduced in the epilogue. Don't expect the same story; I have some very different ideas for this one. Also, I have reused some countries, but the tributes have different names and have inherited a very different set of traits from their respective nations. However this turns out, I hope you find it just as good as _Brutal_.

To HG fans: This is much more strongly based on The Hunger Games than what it is crossovered with. So don't shy away just because you're unfamiliar with the characters. You may miss a few jokes, but you'll still understand the storyline perfectly fine.

To APH fans: The countries are human here. This means they will be a bit different, and most of them won't have the same grudges and such. Also, this is the Hunger Games. Characters die. And, their names have been adjusted to sound Panemian. If you want to know who a certain person is, feel free to ask.

I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

"I'm going to bloody kill you!" I run after my 10-year-old brother as he flees in panic. "Get back here!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" he wails.

"Oh, yeah, _right_! You're _always_ breaking my things!" My brother veers a corner, but doesn't notice he's about to run into the leather couch. He sees it just in time to stumble, but I've already got him by the collar. I can only get my arm hooked around his neck before he starts yelling.

"Mom! Igris is picking on me again! _Mom_! Help!"

"Igris!" comes the roar before Mom sets foot in the living room. "Leave your brother alone!"

"But he broke my Beatles CD!" I object as she comes storming into the room, her heels clopping on the wood floor. "My _compact disc_! Do you _know_ how much antiques like that—"

"Igris, I don't want to hear it. Now let go of your brother," Mom continues sternly.

I begrudgingly release him, and he stumbles away coughing.

"But—my CD—!"

Mom sighs. "You have it all saved on sound file, don't you?"

"It's not the same when you change formats! I—"

"Oh, be quiet, Iggy," my brother interrupts, sitting on one of the swivelling barstools in the nearby kitchen. He spins around, adding, "Let's just all calm down and have breakfast so we can get dressed up for today."

"Says the one who doesn't cook," I grumble, stomping over to the kitchen.

"Um, Igris?" Mom says, hurrying to reach the cabinet before me. "I'll cook this morning. No need for you to do anything extra the day of the reaping."

"Right, right," I sigh, taking my own seat on a barstool. I glare at my brother, but he just smiles mockingly and keeps spinning around.

Honestly! Why do little brothers inevitably have to ruin everything of their siblings'?

I hear Mom click on the stove before she cranes her neck and requests, "Now will one of you go wake your father?"

"I'll do it." I let myself slide off the barstool.

"Thank you, dear."

I pad across the kitchen, living room, and down a hallway to my parents' room.

Our house is rather large. We've inherited quite a fortune from a particularly productive oil-drilling generation, so we don't live the same lives as a lot of others in our district. I'm 16, and I still haven't had to work more than once a week.

"Dad!" I knock on his door. "It's time to wake up!"

I hear a mattress creak, decide my job's been done, and march back to the kitchen.

"Hey, Igris?"

I warily regard my brother. "What?"

He taps his fingers on the bar counter for a moment. "By the way, I kind of—" he clears his throat—"tried-on-your-tux-and-accidentally-ripped-the-pants-hem."

"Wai—what? H-Hey! You little—" I trail off into spluttering as Mom sets our breakfast dishes in front of us. I doubt I could get a word in edgewise if she decides to side with my brother. And she will. She always does.

I resignedly stab a piece of egg with a fork and shove it in my mouth.

* * *

The official checks my name off the reaping list, and Mom and Dad start to walk away with my brother. I bend over and whisper, "The second we get out of this, I _am _going to kill you." He rolls his eyes and walks over to the not-possible-tributes part of the crowd.

I make my own way to the sixteens' section, tugging on my cuff link uncomfortably. Since my idiotic brother decided to tear up my normal tuxedo, I have to show up in my old one, which is such a horrid shade of maroon I honestly don't know what could have come over me to pick it.

It's only a matter of minutes before the mayor comes onstage, and then just a while later before the escort struts on. He loudly announces that he'll be choosing the boys first—while it seems to differ by district and by year, I don't think anyone cares, anyway—before sticking his hand in the boys' bowl.

He plucks out a slip and, inhaling overly dramatically, calls out the name.

"Igris Kirkland!"

"...What?"

All right, whatever he called, it couldn't have been my name. I've never signed up for tessarae in my life, I'm only sixteen, and I... Well, I'm _me_. There's no way _I _could get reaped.

"Where is Igris Kirkland?"

"Er, here...?"

The escort blinks for a moment before spotting me and the gap around me the crowd has constructed.

"Well, come on up, then!"

I walk uncertainly up to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" The escort searches the crowd for a moment. "Well, all right, then! Let's move on to the girls!"

I stare blankly out into the sea of faces.

What... just happened? I'm... going to the Hunger Games?

Well... I'm just having one bloody awful day, aren't I?

**Perdita Adva, District 5**

I shuffle my feet around, but there are so many other twelves in the area I can't move much.

I just want this to be over so I can go home. It's really uncomfortable here—it's too crowded, and being in the reapings for the first time isn't reassuring, either. I'm still just twelve, so I'll only be in there once. The odds are in my favour. But... Everyone else is so nervous it's hard not to be.

As I scuff my toe against the dirt, the escort calls the boy's name. To my surprise, it's a Kirkland. They're one of the richest families around, so there's no way their kid signed up for tessarae... He had good odds, too, but he...

I swallow. I-I don't need to be thinking like that. If someone else got picked against the odds, then it's even less likely for me to be picked, right? Maybe?

Hardly convinced, I stare with sweaty palms as the escort strides over to the girls' bowl. He sticks his hand in all but gracefully and seizes one of the slips from its resting place.

Please... Please don't say...

"Perdita Adva!"

A squeaky scream issues from my lips, and I hurry to cover them with my shaky hands.

No! No! I-I can't go to the Games! There's no way I'd survive!

But... But the odds have been weird enough today, right? So I could just get lucky, right? Maybe?

I've scampered onstage by now, next to the Kirkland boy. The escort calls for volunteers, but no one comes.

I'm not surprised. People don't really volunteer here. We're not a Career district. No one here is prepared for the Hunger Games. I don't have any siblings. All of my girl friends are twelve, too, so they wouldn't stand much of a chance.

I'm suddenly snapped out of my thoughts by the escort grabbing my hand and clapping it against the other tribute's. Subconsciously, I shake, too focused on the Kirkland's green eyes to pay much attention.

He looks just as confused as me. Why wouldn't he? Neither of us is supposed to be up here.

For that matter, _no one _should _ever_ be up here, about to go through what we are. The Capitol should just leave us all alone to be with our families and work a little and have fun little poking fights with our cool, older friends.

But it doesn't work that way. We shouldn't be here, but we are.

It's not fair. It's just not fair. No matter how much they say the odds are with us, the young and the rich, there are always some against us. And even if it's just a tiny, tiny chance...

Well, we've seen what can happen. And now I won't be able to go back home with my dad. I won't be able to play with my friends. I won't be able to have that sleepover birthday party with roasting marshmallows and apple cider.

Because the odds weren't in my favour today.

And now there's nothing I can do about it.


	2. In Place

Author's Note:

For APH fans: Not every character is from Hetalia. Some are original characters for the purpose of 1. filling space and 2. so I don't have to genderbend too many people. I've genderbent enough already.

* * *

**Sve Oxenstierna, District 11**

"Time to get up, Sve."

I push my covers to the side and stand. Dad sees me up and walks back out of my room.

Never being one for breakfast, I go ahead and get in the shower. I don't get to do this every day, since my family of two couldn't afford that sort of water bill. But it's reaping day, and I'm supposed to look my best.

Once I get dried off, I go ahead and dress for the reaping. I'll still down some lunch between now and then, but I'll have to get to the town square right after.

I throw on a white, long-sleeved shirt—it's a little tight since I've had it for so long, but it's the nicest shirt I own—and some dark pants. My nicest pair of shoes is significantly blacker than my slacks, but can't be picky about it.

Adjusting my square glasses, I look myself over in the mirror. My outfit looks fine, and my crisply-cut blonde hair is combed neatly. All ready for the reaping. Which is in about—I peek out the door to the den/kitchen's clock—an hour.

I look back in the mirror and sigh. Nothing to do until lunchtime. We don't exactly have a closet cluttered with board games, even though I'm fond of playing such things.

But games cost money we don't have. So if I want fun, I have to make it for myself.

And when I say "myself", I mean it. I don't really have any friends. I'm a likeable person—at least, I think I am—but people generally seem to be scared of me. It might just be because I'm taller than most of District 11's population, because I'm quiet, or because my blue-green eyes always look serious and piercing. For whatever reason, I just intimidate people.

"Sve! Come help with lunch."

"Coming." Turning away from my reflection, I pad toward the kitchen.

A gritty bowl of tessarae stew later, Dad and I are off to the reaping. I take the lead easily and don't lose it by the time we sign in. I give my father a brief nod of goodbye before heading off to the 17's section.

The roped-off areas are very large in District 11, so you would think they're not as crowded, but that assumption is false. I have to step on my fair share of toes before I can get to my section.

But even when I make it there, I don't rest. I'm not restraining myself to my home any longer, so I have no reason not to seek her. She may be a year younger, but I don't think the tattered length of rope between age sections can stop me.

And, within a few minutes, I've spotted her. Hair the same shade as mine and nearly as short, beautifully brown eyes, lovely, innocent face...

It's Finni.

I've loved her for forever, it seems. She's one of the few people to not immediately shun me. She's friendly, and angelic, and perfect, and... It's still obvious I frighten her, which I hate, but... She is mine.

I nudge my way through the crowd, making my way to the edge. Finni is just now making her way into the reaping area. I catch up to her before she can secure herself a place and wrap my arms around her.

"Ah!" she squeaks, flinching for a moment before she can figure out I caught her. "H-Hello, Sve."

I nod in greeting.

She squirms a bit, almost like she doesn't like my holding her.

"It's a lovely day, i-isn't it?" She adds a weak laugh, sounding a little nervous. I assume it's about the reaping.

"Yeah."

She laughs like I've said something funny, then slowly stops. She stares down at her feet.

"S-So, um... I don't mean to be rude or anything, but, um... W-Would you mind letting go of me?"

My eyes widen a bit in surprise, and she flinches.

"N-Not that there's anything wrong with it, b-but... I-I mean... The reaping is really close to s-starting and all, and, I-I... I'm in a-a different section, you know?"

I analyse this for a moment, then start to tug her back toward the possible-tribute section without letting go. She stumbles a bit, but doesn't have any other trouble keeping up as I shuffle over to the rope separating the 16 and 17-year-old sections. With one hand, I take the rope, lift it over Finni's head, and let it fall behind her, hitting my left arm. I wrap the right arm back around her.

"Does that work?"

"U-u-um, y-yeah!" Finni stammers, though she still sounds the slightest bit uncomfortable. "That was... thoughtful."

I'm about to respond, but before I can even open my mouth, the mayor's voice booms out, starting the reaping.

**Finni Vaina, District 11**

I really wish Sve would let go of me. I try to be as nice as I can, but... He scares me. I frequently catch him staring at me, and... He already looks daunting, but when he's obsessed with me, too... It's really hard to be friendly.

But I get the feeling he's not going to release me, so I focus instead on the Treaty of Treason. It's not interesting, but it's distracting enough. I could forget Sve is there if he would stop adjusting his grip on me.

—And speaking of distracting, the district escort clomps onstage. She's a mess of colours, all of them unnaturally bright and none of them even close to matching another. Neon green hair, a purple-and-orange blouse, and red-and-yellow pants are all finished off with a pair of horrendously high indigo pumps.

And if her outfit wasn't distracting enough, her Capitol voice is.

"All right, everyone!" she half-purrs, half-squeaks. "Let's pick out our lucky female tribute first, _shall _we?"

As she trots over to the bowl of girls' names, I can feel Sve's grip tighten a little.

"And our lucky, _lucky _female tribute..." she leans into the bowl, swirling her hand around—"is..." She retracts her hand and stares at the slip before opening her mouth wide to announce...

"Finni Vaina!"

I gasp, and Sve's arms go limp in shock. I start to step away from him, toward my fate, before he suddenly starts to reclaim me. But it's too late; he only manages to grab at the back of my shirt before I continue down the slim aisle the other teenagers have made for me.

Oh, no. I can't believe I'm going to the-the Hunger Games! I'm not weak, but... But against the type of people that arrive in that arena? I don't have a chance!

"Do we have any volunteers?" the escort trills. "Any? Anyone at all?"

You don't have to rub it in, you know.

I look away from her and out toward the crowd. Some are watching, and some aren't paying much attention. My mom and older brother are staring in disbelief from the outer fringes of the audience.

And then there's Sve. Looking at my position onstage with more horror in his expression than I've ever seen in anyone's.

I avert my gaze.

"All _right_! Now let's see who our lucky _male _tribute is!" the escort continues overexcitedly. She scampers over to the boys' bowl and plucks a slip.

"And our male tribute... is..." She opens her mouth wide again, inhaling loudly.

"I volunteer."

The escort breaks off, blinking in confusion.

"What?" She looks out into the crowd and suddenly seems to spot the one raised hand in the sea of seventeens.

"Oh! Goodie! We have a volunteer!"

The hand doesn't lower itself until its owner is out of the crowd and walking onstage.

"And what's your name?"

"Sve Oxenstierna."

Wow. His name's just as scary as the rest of him...

I try not to shake as he takes his place next to me.

"All right, then, District _11_!" the escort giggles. "I present your tributes for the 45th annual Hunger Games!"

Some sparse, halfhearted clapping echoes around the crowd.

The escort starts to make her way off the stage, and I'm suddenly met with a wave of terror that I'm really going to leave this place—

I'm cut off from any motion by Sve's arms, once again curling around me. I can tell he has to lean down to talk softly in my ear.

"You will not die."

He pulls back a little, and I'm vaguely aware of someone removing him from me as I think about this.

I might have one of the strongest guys in the district as my bodyguard—and certainly the most devoted. I feel terrible that I'd be using him, but... I didn't ask for this. He's doing it of his own desire, so... It's perfectly acceptable to let him, right?

I still can't let myself be okay with this, but...

I really hope he keeps his promise.


	3. Leaving

Author's Note: There's a new poll on my profile I'd like you all to vote on.

To HG fans: These introductory chapters may seem in random order, but they do take place chronologically. I just did not want to bore you all (and myself) with twelve reaping chapters, so character introductions take place pretty much all the way to the arena.

* * *

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

There's no way this is happening.

I'm eighteen—just a few days away from nineteen, actually. I had to take tessarae one year. The odds weren't exactly in my favour.

But I can't believe I'm here in the Justice Building. Just two years after my own sister was reaped and sent off to her death... I'm getting reaped, too? It doesn't make sense. Is this some elaborate trick of the Capitol to make their Games more interesting? Have the reapings been rigged from the start?

...No, that doesn't make much sense, either. This kind of thing doesn't happen often enough for that. But... I don't know. There has to be _something _wrong. It's just too... _cruel _for the Capitol to do this.

Although the Capitol isn't exactly known for its kindness. They're only just kind enough to let me have my final goodbyes.

Aptly named. They're definitely final for twenty-three tributes every year—and probably for the twenty-fourth, since Victors are never the same people when they come back.

I wonder if I'll come back. I'm not weak. I could probably survive out there fine. It's just... I really don't think I could bring myself to kill people. How could I? It's already a bad enough thing to do _without _having it directly affect you. But when that monster from 2 murdered my sister... She pretty much killed my chances of doing anything similar.

So, what am I going to do? Survive by myself, and hope everyone else miraculously kills each other off? I'd probably go crazy without anyone to talk to. And there's no way the Gamemakers would let me win that easily. They'll probably give me an even harder time because of my sister.

I don't know what I'm going to do. Just... hope for the best.

I've had just enough time to examine my room in the Justice Building—with bleak, grey tile as the floor; on one end, a door painted so as to seem made of gears; a few slick, silver couches to sit on; and a dull white, lonely ceiling fan spinning laggardly—before my parents come in.

...If I thought _I _had it bad... These two have to watch both of their children go through the Games. And, more likely than not, watch them both die.

N-No. I'm not going to let myself start thinking like that. It... may be more realistic, but... I can't get into that cycle.

I try to focus on my parents for the short time they're allowed to stay, but it's hard. They're so miserable about this, I find myself unable to look them in the eyes.

And then they're gone.

A few friends come in to visit, but I can hardly pay attention. Whether they're trying to comfort me or not, they aren't.

They're just reminding me how much I have to lose.

**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

There's no way this is happening.

I can't keep myself from nervously clawing at the couch I'm sitting on, and the result is a few nailfuls of stuffing.

No—freaking—way!

I try to swing my legs back and forth to calm down, but I end up doing it so violently I almost kick myself off the couch.

"Lovi?"

My legs halt, and I look away from the scratches on the couch to see the person entering my room.

It's Feli, my sister. We're twins—both 14, with hazel eyes—and most people wouldn't be able to tell us apart if her hair weren't a significantly lighter shade of brown than mine.

Don't ask me how _that _happened. Even though we're twins, we're not that alike. I'd blame it on our dear "male guardian" for spending way more time with her, just because she can draw better than me. It's his fault she's such a stupid scaredy-cat.

Feli hurries over to sit on the couch next to me. I scoot away a little bit.

"L-Lovi?"

Oh, crap. Now she's going to start crying.

—And the thought's no sooner gone through my head than her bawling begins.

"I'm s-so sorry!" she wails, surging over and throwing her arms around me in a desperate hug. "I-I never spent enough time w-with you... I-I should have m-made Grandpa let you play with me..." She's practically hyperventilating now, unable to get anything coherent out.

Normally I would struggle out of her grasp—it's awkward and constraining—and yell at her for being such a crybaby, but... I might never get to see her again.

" 'Sokay," I mutter, slumping my shoulders in resignation.

Feli sniffles. "R-Really?"

"Yeah..." I huff. "I never wanted to be around that old man, anyway."

"O-Okay..." Feli loosens her grip a little, and eventually her arms fall back to her sides.

Normally I'd be grateful for the silence—that's usually the only way I know my sister hasn't screwed something up recently—but there's no time.

"Is there... anything else you want to say?" I prompt reluctantly.

Feli blinks at me. "I..." She suddenly lunges toward me again for another hug, knocking the breath out of me. "I-I want you to know I believe in you, Lovi!" she cries, hugging so hard I have to shoulder her away a bit to start breathing again. "You can win, o-okay?"

...She's so sappy. If she thinks saying something cheesy like _that _is going to make me feel better... Well...

Okay, maybe she's not that mistaken after all.

"Time's up."

Feli whimpers, not wanting to let me go.

"...Okay, Feli," I start as the Peacekeeper starts to nudge her away from me, "you listening?"

I hear a sniffly "uh-huh" as she's made to let go.

"You'd better be broken up with that stupid, potato-eating boyfriend of yours by the time _I get back_!" I barely get the final words out before she's shoved out the door.

The wooden pane shuts behind her before she can respond, and I'm left in the room alone.

I don't think anyone else is going to visit. I don't really have any friends. There's no way my grandfather is going to bother to visit me. I don't have any other family.

But the door opens again.

A tall, average-framed boy with short hair a little lighter brown than mine and very green eyes walks in. It's the guy that got reaped, Spain or whatever.

"What do you want?" I snap, crossing my arms.

He blinks, taken aback, as the Peacekeeper, watching carefully, shuts the door behind him.

"Um..." Spain laughs weakly. "I guess—" he scratches the back of his head—"an alliance would be nice."

"What? Why would you want to ally with—" I cut off, clearing my throat. "I mean... What makes you think I would ally with you?"

"Er... Just... because?" he replies awkwardly, obviously not expecting me to question his offer.

Hmph. I can't believe he'd just assume I'd want to ally with him. I mean, sure, he's eighteen, so he'll have a physical advantage in the arena. And most people want allies like that.

But I'd do perfectly fine by myself! I don't need anyone to help!

I look back over at him with a glare, and he flinches, still looking confused.

Oh, what am I talking about? I'm no good at fighting. So, if he wanted to help me for a little while...

"All right, fine," I say. "Allies it is."


	4. Who You Are

Author's Note: Apologies. I kind of had writer's block, but I did update, so, uh... Enjoy, now that it's finally here! :3

To APH fans: Don't be confused by the male tribute's last name! It's only because of the preceding story in this series.

* * *

**Raivis Lithu, District 12**

I look around my room in the Justice Building. Deep, soft carpet. Chairs with velvet cushions arranged in a sketchy semicircle. A couch—where I'm sitting now—the same colour as the cushions. A few carelessly-placed matching throw pillows.

Just the same as it was two years ago.

Two years. It's weird to think it's been so long since my brother was reaped. Me and my other brother, him 15, me 14, sitting on the chairs trying to cheer him up. Him trying not to look as gloomy as usual, and even flashing a brief smile from hearing our funnier anecdotes.

We barely had any time before we were escorted out. And the next time I saw him, he was kilometres away, standing stiffly on a chariot and not bothering in the least to respond to the Capitol audience.

I didn't see much of him once the Games started. I guess the only thing he did "interesting" enough to merit screentime was die.

My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening with a creak.

I don't mind. I'd rather not keep thinking on that subject...

Pivoting on my seat a bit, I watch as my remaining brother steps into the room. He glances at the chairs, but decides to sit next to me instead.

"...Hey."

"Hey."

We sit in silence for a moment before my brother throws an arm over my shoulder.

"You're going to come back home, okay?" he says confidently. He starts to grin. "Has there _ever _been a time more than one of us has gotten caught?"

I crack a smile. "Well, that candy store raid..."

"Oh, that doesn't count! We were _trying _to get caught!"

"Are you sure we didn't just come up with that excuse later?"

"I'm pretty sure we didn't."

* * *

_My brothers and I squat behind the taffy shelf. We have to squint to peek over the thing since the store's lighting is a bit dim. A young, blonde worker paces behind the front counter. Faint, metallic music chimes in the background, and the sickeningly sweet smell of sugar is everywhere. _

_"Are we really going to do this?" Toris whispers._

_"It was your idea!"_

_"I know!" Toris rubs his arm with a jerky smile coming on. "Just kind of hard to believe we're actually going to do this."_

_"Well, we are. Is everything ready?"_

_I peer over the clusters of candy and toward the counter, where the young, blonde attendant is pacing and twirling around boredly._

_"Yeah," I whisper back, ducking down again. "She's forgotten we're here."_

_"All right, let's go!"_

* * *

And minutes later, arms full of the cheaper sweets, we were sprinting away from the worker—who was actually one of Toris's best friends—as well as her father, somehow summoned from the back room by the chaos. Toris ended up being the only one of us not caught; my other brother and I could escape the girl, but not her father.

We weren't honestly trying to get away with the candy. No matter how cheap the contraband is, stealing's still a crime, you know? We just... wanted to have some fun. Since we had to relocate to the Seam a few years ago, we haven't really been able to do anything fun. And then two years ago, chances for joy were dampened by my brother's death. And now...

They're dampened by the possibility of my own.

**Celladora Talith, District 12**

I cross my legs, unhindered by my reaping dress's very short skirt, and try to keep my composure.

I've been reaped. Big deal. Forty-four people have been reaped and lived to tell the tale. I don't see any reason I wouldn't be one of them. I could fight. I don't have any experience with a weapon, but… How hard could it be? I get three days in the Training Centre to work with whatever I want to.

It won't be easy to kill people, but… I could bring myself to do it. I mean, we'll be in the Hunger Games. If I don't kill them, odds are someone else will. And I have even more justification if I do it quickly. I've seen my share of Careers and avengers making the deaths far more painful than they should be. I can make sure less of that happens.

I cross my legs the other way and fold my hands in my lap. It's kind of cold in here.

"Celladora?"

I perk up at the voice and look over at the door.

"Avian!" I respond with delight as my boyfriend walks in and takes a seat next to me. He shuffles a hand through his chin-length, dark blonde hair before reaching over and enveloping my hand with his. Looking down at our hands for a second, like he's trying to decide what exactly to say, Avian takes a deep breath, and then his brown gaze comes up to meet my eye.

"Celladora… About… the Games…" He exhales, still not quite able to get his message out.

Avian never was that good with words. But I can usually figure out what he means before he has to say it.

"Don't worry about it," I start, smiling. "I'll come back."

"…That's not what I'm worried about," he mutters.

I do a double-take, and he suddenly seems to realise what he just said.

"I mean, I definitely want you to come home, all right? Don't get me wrong. I just…" He squeezes my hand. "If you come home… I want you to still be… _you_."

"What? Of course I'll be me, silly," I laugh. "Who else would I be?"

His visage darkens a bit, and I find myself averting my gaze.

What's wrong with him today? For once, I don't seem to understand him.

"Here's… what I'm trying to say," Avian finally exhales, meeting my eye level again. "I want you to come back. I really do. But, more importantly… I don't want you to lose yourself out there."

I blink. "All right…"

Knowing he's yet to make me understand, Avian continues. "You know I love you, Celladora. And only you."

I nod.

"So, if you come back, not acting like yourself…" He can't seem to figure out the rest of the sentence.

"Don't worry," I reiterate. "I'll come back as 'me' as ever, okay?"

"Just… be careful," my boyfriend responds, not completely convinced. "Most of the Victors… They let themselves become monsters out there just to get back home. Don't do that, Celladora."

I turn the slightest bit away from him. "But, you know… To come back, I _will _have to kill some people."

Avian looks down. "I know. Just…" He looks back up. "Whatever you kill… don't let it be your conscience."

"All right," I reply. But I honestly don't know what he's talking about. How am I supposed to kill my conscience?

Avian seems to be satiated by my answer, though; he looks less worried and more like his normal, cheery self now. And just in time—the Peacekeeper arrives to escort him out. We have just enough time to exchange "I love you"s before the door is shut behind him.

I fold my hands back together. The one Avian was holding is much warmer than the other now. My hands have always been colder than his. Colder than most people's, at that. I squeeze my fingers together to warm the chillier hand up.

So… The Games. I have to come back, for Avian. And my parents, of course, who've already said their goodbyes. But… What was Avian talking about? Of course I'll come back as myself.

I just have to come back.


	5. Knowledge

**Fronce Foybon, District 6**

It's thirty minutes to suppertime, and I've got nothing to do but watch the reaping recaps. Nothing different. Careers from 1 and 2. Non-Careers from 3. More Careers from 4. And then District 5 hits. And for once, I recognise the name called.

At first I think it must be a mistake. Mr. Richer-Than-Rich, who only works at the district border trade post once a week and doesn't even really need to, getting reaped?

But after a moment of confusion, he steps onstage. And it's definitely Igris. I'd recognize those monstrous eyebrows anywhere.

So, I'll be going into the arena with my dear friend Mr. Kirkland. And, of course, by "dear friend", I mean archenemy/rival/generally hated person.

We met one Monday afternoon at the border between Districts 5 and 6. I work there for a living, while his parents forced him to work there in some sad attempt to teach him the value of hard work. Though I admittedly don't understand how working once a week is considered hard. Probably better than sitting on his rich, little behind all day.

Either way, we ended up at the same trading post. Shipping goods between districts and all that. Neither of us can stand each other, but I admit it's become a hobby of mine to pester him. Hey, I have to get _some _sort of reward for working seven times more than him.

But now we're both going into the Hunger Games. I wonder how that's going to work out. I doubt either of us is apt to try to kill the other—but who knows? I've only been in contact with him once a week. I may not know him as well as I think I do.

My attention drifts back to the television, but I've already given it enough time to cycle back to District 1. I eye the clock. There are still ten minutes left.

I flip through the channels, but nothing interesting is on.

Hmph. I'd hate to show up to supper too early and look like some starving child. My family may not be the richest in the district, but I get enough to eat.

But I can't figure out a decent way to spend the rest of my time, so I end up wandering over to the eating car of the train. I'm the first one there, aside from a waitress carefully folding the last cloth napkin. She looks up at my entry, dips her head nervously, and puts the napkin in its place. She scampers off to what must be the kitchen.

…That's odd. While I'm not a scrawny-looking pushover, I really don't look that intimidating. Normal frame; blue eyes; shoulder-length, wavy, silky, blonde hair; and a bit of handsome stubble. Certainly nothing to drive the girls away. If anything, I'd say I'm actually quite attractive. And I know several ladies in my district who would vouch the same.

One of the Victors walks in silently behind me, and I go ahead and take a seat as he does. Nice to have someone break the awkwardness, even if he's not keen on speaking.

Within another minute, in which I've unfolded my napkin and tried to create something offhand with it—and failed miserably—the other tribute and the escort have walked in. The escort starts chattering about something I don't have the Capitolian knowledge to listen in on, so I direct my attention to our female tribute.

Her name is China, and although she's fifteen, only a year younger than me, I don't feel the need to make her acquaintance as I do with most girls. She's... just not that pretty. Her eyes are a muddy brown, her short, black, ponytailed hair lacks lustre, and she doesn't have an attractive face. She doesn't have a very becoming voice either; it's throaty and nothing like my gentle crooning.

"What are you staring at?"

I blink back to attention, realising China's caught me looking at her.

"Nothing." I busy my fingers with unfolding my mess of a napkin until the waiters finally return with food.

This is going to be a long meal.

**China Wang, District 6**

My district partner has problems.

First of all, he actually talks to the escort. How can he stand to? It's her fault we got reaped. She decided to work for the slave-driving Capitol, she put her hand in those glass bowls, and she called our names out. We're probably going to die because of her, but Fronce will actually acknowledge her presence? Even worse—he's _flirting _with her. Yes, she's the youngest escort I've seen, somewhere in her upper teens, and she isn't ugly, even with her flamboyantly-dyed hair, but...

Tsk. I guess he's just being a boy. They're all idiots. Violent, greedy, perverted idiots. My 4-year-old little brother is the only male I know who hasn't done anything "manly", and I hope he never will. I've yet to have a pleasant interaction with a boy, other than people taking my money for something.

Just—ugh. It's hard to stand them.

I try to ignore Fronce's flirting and by immersing myself in my meal. Not hard since I love food.

Not that I'm... _fat _or anything. I don't have enough money to eat that much. But I cook all the time. Well, whenever I can. Between school and my tedious job, I don't get that much time to myself.

But the Capitol cooks get all the time they could ever want, I bet. It's hard not to be jealous of them, but... Considering they're from the Capitol, it's hard to feel anything toward them but spite.

Admittedly, they do a wonderful job, though. Their very first course, a sort of raspberry soup, is probably better than anything I've cooked. And that's saying something. The second course, a ring of shrimp with smooth, red sauce, can't really be compared to any of my meals, since I've never even seen shrimp in person before. The third course is a sort of fried chicken in an orange-brown sauce, and finally I start to suspect I could do just as good a job of making it as the Capitol cooks have. Coming fourth is a heavily-sauced plate of venison with an awkward tang to it I bet I could fix with a handful of herbs. Fifth is a small bowl of noodles with mushrooms and peppers and some other sort of vegetable I haven't encountered before. And last but not least comes a cold plate of cheesecake with chocolate and caramel drizzled over it. I'm not as much for making desserts as normal food, but I bet I'd enjoy it.

The meal is over, and a few of the people stationed around the table drop their napkins on their plates and exit. I find myself lingering for a bit on the fancy I might be able to follow the plate-carrying Avoxes into the kitchen and experiment, but decide that's probably not going to work.

I could always ask tomorrow, though. I'm the precious little tribute, after all. If the Capitol's willing to throw away enough money on us for these fancy meals and train rooms, then surely they could afford to let us cook with their things.

But I'd probably get accused of trying to poison my districtmate or something. Even though I think only a boy would try to stoop that low. To profane the name of culinary art with their stupid schemes.

I fold up my napkin, toss it on the table, and go back to my room.

It's still nowhere near time to go to bed, so I find myself clicking the television on. There doesn't seem to be much on. Reaping recaps, complete with Capitol commentary. Some freaky soap opera where all of the characters have such a horrible Capitolian accent I can't figure out what they're saying. A game show with some sort of word puzzle none of the contestants seem to be able to figure out. Some shopping channel advertising a eye-stainingly pink purse.

And then I come across the cooking channel.

My eyes are glued for the rest of the night. Half of the ingredients they're using I haven't even heard of. I guess the herbs and things are only grown in the Capitol. Maybe they're synthetic. Maybe they just don't grow in District 6. In whatever case, the whole show just fascinates me.

Before I know it, it's time to go to bed. Seems odd, going to bed without putting a hard day's work in first. Just sitting around watching television. I wonder, do the people in the Capitol do this every day? Now wonder they're not capable of anything good, if they don't work.

But ah, well. That's an issue to hit another day.

Right now it's time to sleep.


	6. Sibling Rivalry

Author's Note: If I write "haev", it's not a typo.

To Brutal fans: If you have time, check out my forums! I added something for you all. :)

* * *

**Vahn Larus, District 9**

I turn off the television. The upteenth recap of the reapings is over, and supper's coming up.

Supper. I guess I'm going to have to leave my room to eat. I really don't want to, though... If I leave my room, I might run into my sister.

There's nothing really wrong with my sister. She's just... just...

_Her_.

I mean, she's not too unfriendly, and she's pretty enough—dark blonde hair falling to her back, deep blue eyes—to get any guy she wants.

...Unfortunately, she seems to have chosen me.

And... she's quite... determined...

Yes, I'd really rather not run into her if I can help it.

The clock changes to 6:00, and I'm still lounging comfortably in the safety of my train room when someone raps on the door. I can't help but tense up until the knocker calls me to dinner.

"Vahn, dear!" comes the escort's habitual purr. "You're late for supper!"

Whew. Not my sister.

But, I suppose the escort could have the power to force me out of here...

"Um," I finally start, "I vould prefer to eat alone, if zat's possible."

"What?" the escort responds. "Well, that's just silly! Why would you want to do that?"

"I haev my reasons."

"Oh, get out here! Your sister's been waiting for you! Haven't you, Natalya?"

I emit a sound similar to "eep" and use my body to barricade the door as footsteps clack behind me.

"Yes, Vahn... _I've been waiting_," my sister responds, her voice low enough to frighten me more. "_Why don't you come out_?"

And suddenly, there's a scratching, prying sound, like fingernails ripping through wood.

Wait—the door's made of wood, isn't it?

"Go avay!" I cry. "I just vant to eat by myself!"

"_Come on out, Vahn_," my sister responds through gritted teeth, continuing her assault on the door.

"Er—oh, dear... Natalya?" the escort finally breaks in. "Please stop that. Look what you're doing to the wood!"

There's a blank moment, and I hear the escort gulp like Natalya's death-glared at him. Which she probably has.

"Vahn, come out!" the escort beseeches. "I'll have to pay for however she damages the door!"

"I don't vant to!"

"_Vahn_!"

* * *

I twirl the long strands of spaghetti around my fork in silence.

I am very, very, _very _glad for Avoxes. And very glad tributes aren't allowed to hurt each other before they're in the arena. If that were not a rule, Natalya may not have been branded as a "threat to the system" and restrained by the silent servants.

So, I get to eat without any contact with my sister, and the escort gets less damage to that door. Works for everyone.

I dare to glance over at Natalya, who's still fuming about being secured to her chair.

I wonder how she'll do when the Games begin. If I'm lucky at all, I'll be able to avoid her. The arenas are normally quite large—and I heard some rumours on television about something based off the mountain used two years ago, since so many of the tributes apparently had connections with tributes from that year. In whatever case, I'll be grateful as long as I can get away from my sister.

It's odd. I still hope she doesn't get killed—she's still my sister—but... I really don't think I'll be that affected if I see her face in the sky. After all, she'll have to be gone if I want to get out alive.

And that I want to do.

**Natalya Larus, District 9**

I don't know why Vahn still refuses to show his love for me. He shouldn't be afraid. He's only 18, a year older than me, so it's not creepy or anything.

And I'm sure he's figured out by now that he's adopted.

* * *

_"And that's all of the papers," the hospital attendant finishes. She looks down at me. "You might have a scar, but you won't have to worry about that silly little appendix making you sick ever again, okay?"_

_I nod._

_"All right, Natalya," Mom says, taking my hand, "let's get out of here, then." Dad starts to lead the way out of the eerie building._

_"—What do you mean, we can't help?" a piercing voice suddenly yells a few metres in front of us._

_"There's no money to support him!" someone else snaps._

_"But I could save him if—"_

_"I said, there's no money! If you do any more work on him you'll have to pay for it yourself!"_

_"But I can't afford—!"_

_"I know that! That's why I'm telling you to give up!"_

_By now, Mom, and me along with her, has stopped at the scene: two male doctors yelling at each other across a gurney with a small child about my age in it._

_"What's going on?"_

_The doctors seem confused by my mother's interference, and they cut off their argument to look at her._

_"Well," says the dark-haired doctor who had spoken first, "this boy was caught in a horrible machinery accident with his parents. He got out with head trauma and some other bad lacerations, but his parents weren't so lucky." He exhales. "But he's going to bleed to death if we don't do anything about it. And we can't, since his family doesn't have any money left."_

_Mom puts her hands to her mouth. "That's horrible!" she cries, tearing up a bit. "How long does he have?"_

_"Who knows?" the doctor mutters. "Not much."_

_Mom stares horrified at the little boy, and before I—and probably even her—know what she's doing, she lowers her hands and digs out her wallet._

_"How much would it take to save him?"_

* * *

_I stand by the little hospital bedside impatiently. I've been sitting around in this place for what seems like years, and when it's finally time to get out, I get stuck here again._

_Mom's back to holding my hand, and Dad's standing next to us silently. The doctor that had talked to us—the other one went away—is crouching on the other side anxiously. The little boy, Vahn—the doctors somehow found out his first name from his parents before something happened to them, but apparently they didn't have enough records or something to know his last name—is still asleep on his bed. He looks a lot healthier than when I first saw him._

_Vahn suddenly stirs. His eyelids open just a crack, but soon all of his blue, almost-purple, irises are visible. He blinks at Mom, currently the only one in his line of vision._

_"A-Are you my mom?" he whispers, sounding like he hasn't talked for years._

_He thinks _my _mom is his mom? Does he have amnesia or something?_

_Mom falters for a second, but soon lets go of my hand and steps closer to Vahn. "Y-Yes, honey. I'm your mom," she replies shakily, wrapping her fingers around his much smaller ones. "Are you feeling okay?"_

_"V-Vell, I don't feel _sat _bad..."_

_The doctor stands back up immediately, looking as confused as Mom. Dad directs his gaze toward the doctor._

_"Does he have a speech impediment or something?" my father asks quietly._

_"I... don't know," the doctor says, furrowing his brow. "I've never heard one like that..." He snaps his fingers. "It must be FAS!"_

_"Be what?" my mom echoes._

_"Oh, it's a rare condition, but nothing to be worried about," the doctor assures. "He might talk a little funny, that's all."_

_"Oh, okay. That's fine." Mom looks back over at Vahn and smiles. "Just get a little better, and we'll go home, okay, sweetie?"_

_Vahn blinks sleepily. "Okay."_


	7. Reasoning

Author's Note: Long chapter, everyone.

This was quite possibly the most awkward chapter to write, ever. I couldn't even let myself see what I was typing, it was so... whatever it is.

So, uh, pardon me if there are any typos. Haha.

* * *

**Rome Gnaeus, District 1**

At last, Ania and I are being outfitted for the chariot. Separately, of course; at the moment, me and two styling assistants are the only ones in the room. They seem to be taking a little while to figure out what they need to change about me. It's only natural; even a highly-trained eye would have diffculty finding physical flaws on me. Not only am I perfectly sculpted from my years in the Tribute Training Facility, I'm also pretty darn handsome, to put it lightly. I'd expect the stylists won't find anything wrong with me.

But after a few minutes of inspection, a stylist decides to shave my chin. I don't see why he'd have any reason to do that—I may have more stubble than the average 18-year-old, but I think it just adds to my manliness—but he does, anyway.

A quick and more painful than I'd like to admit waxing later, the assistants have left to call in the head stylist. I take the moment of solitude to find the mirror and strike a few poses. Man, I'm sexy.

"_He_llo."

I scramble back to attention and turn to face the female stylist.

"Hello," I respond. I don't bother to put the robe back on because 1. she'll probably take it back off, anyway and 2. there's no need to deprive a lady from seeing all of me she wants to.

"Well, let's get started," the stylist says, walking further into the room.

"Sure," I reply. Not much to get started. Take a good look at me to ensure I'm as perfect as I should be, and then slap a costume on. Shouldn't take long.

The stylist circles me for a moment, eyes narrowed, hands stroking her chin. She pulls away, then comes closer, then suddenly backs up and snaps her fingers.

"That's what's wrong!" she announces. "Your eyelashes!"

I blink.

"What?"

"Yes, yes," she tuts, cradling my chin in her hands and staring at my eyes. "They're far too short."

"What?" I repeat blankly.

"Oh, don't worry about it! We have plenty of false eyelashes here." The stylist pulls through a couple of drawers. "Maybe these glittery ones?"

My lower eyelid starts to twitch. "I don't think that's the best idea," I venture, pulling in closer to her and grinning. "As you can obviously see—" I strike a model-worthy pose—"I clearly have the 'manly' angle going for me."

The stylist nods, though she doesn't seem all that convinced. "And your point?" she finally responds.

I try to keep my composure. "Don't you think putting glittery eyelashes on me would completely ruin that?"

The stylist immediately starts laughing. "Oh, _everyone _in the Capitol wears fake eyelashes!"

"But, uh, people in the Districts... don't."

"Well, that just shows how silly they are! Now," she continues, pulling a small box out of a drawer, "let's get you situated, shall we?"

* * *

The second the chariot pulls out, I am ripping these off my face. No one as ripped and handsome as I am should _ever _wear _anything _that glitters. What kind of man _sparkles_?

The stylist, unaware of my thoughts, arranges the folds of my golden-lined toga before the music finally starts. The horse carrying the chariot starts to gallop off, and, out of my stylist's range, I immediately tug at the stupid, sparkling eyelashes.

But they won't come off.

I get a few more frantic chances to rip them off me before the horse has pulled me and my districtmate into the view of everyone in the Capitol. Everyone in the _country_. I finally surrender and put my arms down. Eyelashes aren't that noticeable, right? So if I don't make a big deal about it, no one should notice!

Clearing my throat, I finally let myself start interacting with the crowd. Waving, catching flowers and flashing my handsome smile, eventually flexing since the chariots are all about showing off, anyway.

In the midst of this, I can just detect Ania leaning a little close to my ear.

"Nice eyelashes."

**Ania Jerume, District 1**

I look around at the Capitolians surrounding me, and it finally starts to sink in.

I'm going to the Hunger Games.

I've been in training for it, of course. So it's certainly not as if I'm intimidated by it. It's just a bit odd.

For one thing, my district partner is two years older than me. This doesn't happen that often in the Hunger Games. The gap is generally just one year, or none.

Of course, I wasn't actually chosen to go this year. I wasn't planning on it at first. But when the Training Facility officials announced Rome would be going… I had to volunteer.

And, since I _am _one of the strongest girls there, they accepted me.

I look over at Rome. While he's certainly not ugly, I didn't follow him into the battlefield for that reason. I don't even like him.

No, I came here with him to repay him.

* * *

_"Well, we're very glad you've decided to join us here, Ania," the official says, continuing his tour of the grounds. "We'll make a top-notch tribute out of you, I guarantee."_

_I nod, sending a few strands of my long, blonde hair sliding over my shoulder._

_"Now," the attendant says, looking at his watch, "my shift's over, and so's the tour. I'll leave it up to Harrow over there to get you started. Harrow!"_

_A slim young man with black hair trots over._

_"Get Ania here started, all right?"_

_"Got it." Harrow looks me over as the first guide exits. "So," he starts, "how strong do you think you are, Ania?"_

_I look back at him for a minute. "Strong enough."_

_"All right... I'll set you up with a spar against..." Harrow looks around the room. "Atil over there." He motions toward a very well-built tribute who must be a good few years older than me._

_I can't help but think this won't be the fairest of spars. But I certainly can't back away now, when I've only just been accepted to train here. And maybe Atil is just the best to measure newcomers' strengths._

_"All right..."_

_"Atil!" Harrow calls, making the future tribute look over at him. "Ania here's going to spar with you!" Harrow looks back at me. "Have fun." He starts to walk away._

_I consider calling after him and asking if he's going to stay so he can accurately determine my skills, but I stop myself. I'm probably just unaware of exactly how they do things around here._

_Instead, I go ahead and walk over to Atil._

_"Shall we begin?"_

_

* * *

_

_I was right when I thought I was outmatched__. If I were weak, I never would have been allowed inside—but it's impossible to even compare myself to Atil. Even though we both fight with dulled swords—my specialty—I'm losing horribly. And Harrow's not here to stop it. No one is. If anything, people are just looking on in amusement._

_Our swords clang against each other, but Atil, being much the stronger, shoves his forward so hard my sword's tip buries itself uncomfortably in my shoulder. We pull back, and Atil heaves his sword upward and brings it down before I have the chance to defend myself. The blow is so strong even the dulled sword manages to pierce my upper arm. I draw back, half in pain, half in surprise, but Atil continues unfazed. Our swords cross again, and once again he overpowers me._

_This is getting serious. Against this kind of person—I could __die __here._

_We exchange blows again, his sword making a cut dangerously close to my neck._

_My strength is waning. I'm not sure how long I can keep this up—and then what? Will he stop?_

_But he must. The Facility couldn't possibly kill its new recruits!_

_With another clang of metal on metal, my sword is suddenly knocked away from my grasp, and I'm knocked off my feet._

_But Atil doesn't stop; He rears back for another swing, and, unable to move away, I close my eyes and brace myself. I hear the squelch of tearing flesh—_

_But it's not mine._

_I dare to unclose my eyes. Blocking my view of Atil is a newcomer with dark brown hair about the right length for a male his age. The sword is stuck into the middle of his torso, but it didn't get very far._

_"How about you pick on someone your own size, Atil?" he grunts as a mildly-confused Atil pulls his sword back out._

_And while the newcomer isn't exactly the same size as Atil, he's almost as muscular._

_As Atil walks away to put his sword up, the brunette turns to face me._

_"Hey," he greets with a grin that is completely incongruous with the damage he's just taken. He extends a hand, and I shakily pull myself back to my feet._

_"Thanks," I say, not sure where exactly to start._

_"Ah, don't mention it. It's the least I can do for a nice-looking lady." He continues to grin. "My name's Rome. Yours?"_

_"Ania," I reply slowly. My gaze drags back down to his wound, which is still bleeding._

_Rome blinks and follows my line of sight._

_"Oh, yeah. I should probably get that checked out. Uh, see you later?"_

_"Sure…"_


	8. Destinations

Author's Note: Wiremu is nasty. Just _nasty_. So be wary when reading his POV. Hopefully it's not too bad.

* * *

**Wiremu Sachy, District 4**

I have to say, I hate my stylists. Not because my outfit is ridiculous—although it is—but because they had to get me Capitol-level clean for the parade.

I hate being clean. It's unnatural and in no way worth the effort. I mean, a good fourth of the kids in my part of the district can't afford to shower every day, but no one looks down on them for it. Why should I have to, you know? It's not going to make me any prettier—soap's not going to fix a once-broken nose and jaws of crooked teeth. It's just... Tch. I don't care for it.

But now that the stylists have put me through the whole ordeal once, the audience is going to expect me to look like I do now. So for interviews, I'll have to be scrubbed off again.

And of course the whole ordeal has to be done by the male stylists. Because it wouldn't be awkward enough to just do it myself.

I cross my arms and stare back out into the crowd. No point trying to look friendly. Hard to be any sort of charismatic with looks like mine. I'll just go for intimidating, and hopefully the crowd'll be fine with that.

Is it time for the Games yet? I can't stand the Capitol. I'd just as soon skip over this entire part of the festivities and get straight to the arena. Because it's devoid of this revoltingly sanitary air.

And it's not like you have any morals to uphold once you get there, either. The crowd already wants you to kill viciously, to fool people. So I doubt they'd mind if I had a little fun with a girl before disposing of her. If they don't want to watch, there's always some pitiful alliance to spy on while they wait.

I glance over at my district partner, Taberah. She's sixteen, just a year younger than me. But she looks too frail to be any fun—it's hard to believe she's ever even set foot in the Tributes' Survival Knowledge Centre.

So I look around the rest of the crowd.

The girl from one has a very male-looking face, and she looks about as strong as me. She's probably out.

The two girl is also a Career, and she looks a lot stronger than me. Definitely out.

The three is 14, so she's out. The five is 12; likewise.

The girl from six might not be bad; it's kind of hard to imagine her defending herself from anything.

The seven is 13, so I'm not going for her.

The eight... All she's done in whatever I've seen her on television is sleep. So that's a little cheap.

The nine doesn't look too bad at all, but considering how much she's clinging to her brother, I'd have to get him out of the picture first. And he looks pretty strong. So we'll see.

The ten is 14, so she's not on the menu.

The eleven's pretty darn cute, so she's definitely not disqualified.

And then the twelve is covered in too much coal dust for me to see much about her. But I'm sure she'd be fine.

So. The field's not too bad this year. Good. I'd hate to show up when none of the girls are a manageable age.

The chariots have stopped, and the president starts his speech. I'm not paying attention, of course. That crap's too boring to hold my interest for long.

So, I run a hand through my scruffy, black hair and start to daydream.

**Taberah Atalanta, District 4**

I really don't like my costume. I guess I'm supposed to look like a fish of some sort. Scales have been stencilled all over my arms and legs, and I'm wearing a much-too-revealing blue dress with wing-ish things that might be intended to look like fins. While I certainly have the sort of figure to pull this off—I'm more slender than your average Career—it's uncomfortable to wear so little.

I guess I'm not an average Career in more ways than one. I don't care that much for the crowd, or the fame that comes by winning, or even the event itself. But I have to go through that to get the money. And I need the money. Or, more accurately, my father needs the money.

He's been too unwell to work for a very long time, so my mother and my big sister, Livie, always had to earn all the money. This arrangement worked perfectly well—I never had to take up a job myself.

But, a little while after I turned fifteen... Dad suddenly seemed to get worse. We called back the doctor, and, after a painstakingly long period of examination, gave us the verdict.

My father was going to die in six months.

Then the doctor said evading his fate a little while longer was possible—but only with a horribly expensive series of treatments.

We weren't a poor family or anything, but we could only afford the first of the treatments. If we wanted any more, not only would I have to start working, all of us would have to find a way to make even more money.

But when I went out looking for a job, no position offered to me was even close to providing the pay I needed. Mom and Livie couldn't find a way to make more money, either.

—And then I ran across the Tributes' Survival Knowledge Centre.

…I know how much a Victor gets from winning the Hunger Games. Enough to not only never work again, but also to spend vast amounts of cash on carousing and other questionable hobbies.

We could afford Dad's treatment if I won.

And I knew I could do it. I've always been the fastest runner around, and the first part of the remedy would keep Dad around long enough for me to get into the next Games. I would even get nearly a year to train.

So I walked into the Centre.

And here I am now, atop a chariot, trying to adjust the low-cut collar of my dress and failing miserably.

…It's hard to keep myself distracted. Cameras are still all around, broadcasting images of the tributes on unnecessarily-long television screens, and some of the costumes are so otherworldly they're impossible to ignore.

And that means it's also hard to ignore the tributes inside of them. The people inside of them. People I'll be trying to kill in a few days.

But, you know what? I don't mind. They'd be in the Hunger Games whether or not I'm in with them. They'd die whether I show up or not. So it wouldn't do them any good at all for someone other than me to come from District 4. It's all the same in the end.

…At least, that's what I'm trying to convince myself…

Oh, snap out of it! It doesn't matter whether I want to do this or not. I'm _going_ to do it. I'm _going _to win. And I'm _going _to bring the money home and save Dad.

Because I know I'm able to. My sprint certainly hasn't slowed down. From my time in the Centre, I'm practically a master of martial arts. And I know how to manage with a lance, too. I have a perfectly good chance, and I'm going to do this.

And it's not because I want to. It's because I have to. Because I'm the only chance my dad has.

And I'm not going to let him down.

I look back around the semicircle of tributes. All of the Careers are more muscular than me. Almost none of the other tributes are. We have all ages, from twelve—the girl from 5—to eighteen—the boys from 1, 3, and 9. Some tributes look terrified. Some look bored. Some look determined.

But only one will win.

And that will be me.


	9. ペチャクチャ

Author's Note: Well, according to the poll, I will be doing recommended listenings come Gametime.

As for the weird title, ペチャクチャ most nearly translates to "chatter". But ペチャクチャ is a lot funner to say, and I felt it described the chapter a little better than just "chatter". So, uh, pardon my Japanese?

* * *

**Eston von Bock, District 7**

I'm not good at lighting fires.

I've determined this over the last half hour or so in the Training Centre. The attendant hasn't overtly given up on me, but he has excused himself to introduce an incoming tribute to the station.

Dubiously, I stare down at the flint in my hands. While it's supposedly the easiest way to coax a spark into the tinder, it's certainly not working for me.

I could set that stupid pile of wood on fire easily, if I just had a decent battery and some wire or something to short-circuit it with. But what are the odds of getting my hands on that in the arena? They don't tend to put anything modern—aside from Capitol-grade medicine—around the Cornucopia. Sponsors could still provide something good in that aspect, but who knows if I'll even have any sponsors? Even though I'm 16, I'm far from being the stereotypical District 7 brawny lumberjack type. If I'm any sort of stereotype, I'd probably be closest to one from District 3.

I've always been more into technology than lumber. And even though logging is the district industry, it's not absolutely 100% of what we do. I managed to get a pretty steady job working on communication technology the Mayor and some other important 7's need. And I like it a lot more than anything wood-related I've tried.

What all have I tried? Let's just say it's a long, mildly-embarrassing story that I'd rather not elaborate on.

"Hey."

I perk up, a bit grateful at the distraction from the hopelessly-unflaming pile of tinder in front of me.

"Your name is Eston, right?" the newcomer continues. With his short, curly, blonde hair; blue eyes; and rather short stature, I can place him as Raivis from 12.

In response to his question, I nod.

Raivis laughs a little. "You know what's funny? It sounds a lot like my brother's name." He looks up at the ceiling. "Well, my brother that's still at home, not the, uh, other one... But I guess that's kind of obvious..." He pauses, looking back down at his meager pile of firewood. "I wonder what it would be like to go through the Hunger Games with a brother?" he suddenly starts. "It's happened before and all, but not to me, obviously. Of course, for it to happen to me, I guess I'd have to be a girl since that's how the reapings go. Except I'm not a girl, so my brother would have to be my sister. But that's not quite the same..."

I continue to pay attention to him, although he's not making any sort of sense.

"So if I had a brother in the Games, he would have to not be my brother!" Raivis declares, looking at me expectantly. My lack of comprehension seems to disappoint him.

"But my point is—will you be my brother?" he finishes, looking at me hopefully.

"Er..." I look back at him blankly.

He suddenly seems to realise I'm not following him.

"I guess I kind of worded that the wrong way..." he confesses. "Um... What I'm asking is..." He trails off, trying to put words together that are apparently beyond his comprehension.

"...Are you asking to be allies?" I finally suggest.

Raivis perks up. "Yeah! Yeah, that sounds better! Er—not that being allies is a worse thing than that and you're making it sound better than it is, but... Wait..." He once again seems to forget what he's trying to talk about.

So, even though he can't seem to put it into words, he wants to be allies. Well... He might not be the best at figuring out the right thing to say, but very rarely is that sort of skill needed in the Games. And in the event we need to talk our way out of something, well, I can do it. I don't know what all could benefit me from a friendship with him, but an alliance is an alliance. It'll always help at least a little bit.

Raivis is still pondering what to say next, so I clear my throat, getting his attention.

"Do you want to be allies?" I say, hoping he won't mess up the answer to a yes-or-no question more than once.

"Yes!" he replies, finally clear.

"All right, then. Let's be allies."

**Laine Berna, District 7**

It's lunchtime!

I'm very excited because I've been working hard all morning, and I'm hungry.

One of the first in line at the food tables, I grab a plate, pile it up with a plain sandwich and a lot of baby carrots—ha ha, baby carrots: they're so cute!—and take a seat at the closest table. At first, no one joins me, since three more tables are open. But once there's a person at each table, some of the other tributes finally come to my table.

"Hello!" I greet cheerfully as Celladora from 12 sets her plate down.

"Um... hey," she replies slowly as she takes a seat across and a metre away from me.

"How are you today?" I continue, nibbling on one of the carrots.

Celladora stares back. "Are you being sarcastic or something?"

I blink. "No..." I pause to take a sip of my milk. "Are you having a bad day?" I just notice the blonde boy from 5 taking a seat at our table.

"A bad day?" Celladora half-scoffs, half-laughs. "Of course I'm having a bad day! I'm going to be shipped off to the Hunger Games!"

"Well, yeah, but... Are you having a bad day _right now_?"

"Um... No..." Celladora takes a bite of her own food. "But what does right now matter? We're going to be in the _Hunger Games_."

"I know that!" I respond indignantly.

"Then why are you acting so cheerful?" Celladora counters.

"Well, things aren't going to change if we act all gloomy about them, now, are they?" I start eating another few of the carrots while the girl from 5, Perdita—such a pretty name!—sits across from me. She takes one look at me and starts giggling.

"What?"

"You're eating like a gerbil!" Perdita laughs.

Nibbling down the last of one of the carrots, I respond, "You think so? It's kind of funny, because most of my friends say I eat like a bunny. Since I like carrots and everything. And some of them just call me a bunny because I'm hyper. Well, because of the carrot thing, too."

"That's funny!" Perdita stifles a little more laughter before turning to eat her meal.

The two from 6, China and Fronce—Fronce, Fronce, Fronce, Fronce; that's fun to say!—sit down at the other end of the table.

"Hello!" I call.

"Hey," the newcomers reply unenergetically, all but in unison. They immediately shift their attention to their food.

I wish people would stop acting so upset. I mean, I know we're going off to a horrible place in just a couple of days, but... It just seems so much _worse _when it stops us from enjoying ourselves now! I don't mean we need to forget about the Games completely, but... It's a bad enough place to begin with. We don't need to be extra pessimistic about it.

I finish my sandwich and milk in an awkward silence. No conversation starts up before I eat the last of my carrots, either, so I leave the table to its silence and put up my plate.

Time to get back to training!

I haven't tried any of the weapons stations out—a lot of the tools seem too heavy for me to lift, and I'm really not sure I'd be able to use those skills in the Games, anyway—and I'm not planning to change pace now.

Humming a children's song, I trot off to the camoflauge station.


	10. Anybody

**Amer Jones, District 10**

The second day in the Training Centre has begun. I set off for the hand-to-hand station first thing. Luckily, I'm the only one here at the moment, so the attendant doesn't have to divide her attention.

I think hand-to-hand combat is the best thing to study here. Survival things—even if you know all of the naturally poisonous plants, the Capitol could hit you with a toxic strawberry mutt, and you'd be dead, anyway. Weapon stations—I'm not a Career, so I may never actually get a weapon. And… Weapons make it too easy to kill people.

I don't want to kill anyone. I… I'm not sure just what I want to do. I know I want to go home, to District 10—the best place in all of Panem!—and the twin brother I volunteered for, and Mom and Dad. But, if I'm just fighting for myself… There's no way I could justify killing someone.

So… I'll make some allies. Protect them like any hero would. Not just because I need a reason to kill—but I really do want to help some of these guys. Even if only one gets out alive…

I… I don't know. I don't want to be in this at all. But I have made up my mind. I'll make some allies and protect them.

…As long as I can, that is.

I continue at the hand-to-hand station for a good while, until another tribute appears and the attendant excuses herself to get him started.

I'm not going to get much of anything else done in this time—it's only about twenty minutes to lunch—so I decide to wander about the stations and observe the other tributes.

I first come across a survival stand, something involving proper cooking of meat, where two boys—from 7 and 12, I think—are already conversing like allies.

"Hey," I start, walking up next to them. They look up for a second in acknowledgement before getting back to their cooking.

So, how should I go about this? I want to try something tactful…

"You wanna be allies?"

They look back up briefly, and then exchange glances.

"No," replies the 7 after a moment, adjusting his glasses.

"Wha? Why not?"

"Whether you're strong or not, you're not going to be a match for the Careers," he starts quietly. "And neither will we. So our strategy is hiding. And that's not going to be easier with another member in the alliance."

"Oh… Okay…"

They turn back to their station, and, after a moment of hesitation, I leave.

I've walked across a few empty stations before some furious clanging draws my attention. Pinpointing its source, I head over to the rapier station, where a few other tributes have also been drawn.

Two blonde tributes—Igris from 5 and Fronce from 6, I think—are engaged in a swift exchange of jabs and blocks, their foils flashing rapidly as they spar. They continue their mad exchange of ringing clangs until suddenly, both rapier tips near their opponent's chests. Both poised centimetres away from the other tributes' hearts, the swords stay suspended as their temporary owners lock in place panting.

"So… This must mean we're evenly matched, non?" pants Fronce.

"No," Igris huffs. "This means you got lucky this time."

The attendant, meanwhile, stands stiffly to the side, acting like he's seen a ghost.

The two tributes finally lower their rapiers, while Igris checks the clock. "Oh, good. Lunchtime." He walks over to the attendant and holds his sword out for the man to take. "Thanks for letting us use those, huh?"

"Yeah…" The attendant takes the foil a bit fearfully before flashing his gaze back up at the 5. "And this… was your first time with a rapier?"

"That's correct." Igris nods his head at the approaching 6. "His, too."

"_What?_" comes out of my mouth immediately. I think I understand what the attendant was so freaked out about now.

So… These two are either going to be my allies or my enemies. Now, I _wonder _what the smart choice would be.

I walk up to make their acquaintance, but they're already striding past me and toward the buffet before I can get a word out.

"Uh—hey!" I start after them, but they still don't notice me.

Wait. If I ask to be allies after that, I'll just sound like a weakling trying to surround himself with people to protect him. And that's exactly the opposite of what I want.

Well…

I sigh and grab a plate.

**Meghna Cinge, District 10**

I stare down at my full plate. Fancy Capitol food is in little piles all over the ceramic, and I should be hungry after working hard at the training stands.

But I really don't have an appetite.

I want to go home. I miss my family, and I really miss my boyfriend... I can't stand to think that I might never see him again.

Okay, come on, Meghna. Don't get to thinking like that. You can make it home. Maybe...

I poke at my food with a fork, although I'm still far from eating any of it.

Well, if I want to win, I'll need some allies. I'm not very strong, so there's no way I could take on the Career pack by myself. But with whom would I ally? Like I said, I'm not that strong. I don't know how I could woo anyone over to my side.

"Hello!"

I look up as Laine from 7 sets her food down across from me.

"Hey," I greet, unable to match her enthusiasm. Not distracted by my own food, I end up watching Laine down a few baby carrots. She's humming something that seems kind of familiar.

I wonder where I've heard it before.

"Hey... Laine?" I start. Laine perks up. "What are you humming?"

"Oh, it's a song I learned in school when I was little." She clears her throat and restarts the song with words. "There's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza, there's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, a hole!"

"Then mend it, dear Georgie," I find myself replying, "dear Georgie, dear Georgie, then mend it, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, mend it!"

Laine gasps and claps her hands in delight. "You know that song?"

"Yeah," I reply, starting to smile a bit. "Probably around the same age you did."

"Well, let's keep singing, then!" Laine exclaims. "Uh, where were we—Oh! With what shall I mend it, dear Liza, dear Liza, with what shall I mend it, dear Liza, with what?"

"With..." I trail off. "What...?"

"Straw," Laine whispers loudly.

"Oh, right!" I laugh a little bit. "With straw, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, with straw, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, with straw!"

"But the straw is too long, dear Liza, dear Liza, but the straw is too long, dear Liza, too long!"

"Then cut it, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, then cut it, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, cut it!"

"With what shall I cut it, dear Liza, dear Liza, with what shall I cut it, dear Liza, with what?"

"With a knife," I laugh—Georgie's not the smartest person, apparently, "dear Georgie, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, with a knife, dear Georgie, dear Georgie, a knife!"

"But the knife is too dull, dear Liza, dear Liza, but the knife is too dull, dear Liza, too dull!"

"Then whet it, dear Laine—" I cut off for a second, but shrug it off. "Dear Laine, dear Laine, then whet it, dear Laine, dear Laine, whet it!"

"With what shall I whet it, dear Meghna, dear Meghna, with what shall I whet it, dear Meghna, with what?"

"With a whet stone, dear Laine, dear Laine, dear Laine, with a whet stone, dear Laine, dear Laine, a stone!"

"But the stone is too dry, dear Meghna, dear Meghna, but the stone is too dry, dear Meghna, too dry!"

"Then wet it, dear Laine, dear Laine, dear Laine, then wet it, dear Laine, dear Laine, wet it!"

"With what shall I wet it, dear Meghna, dear Meghna, with what shall I wet it, dear Meghna, with what?"

"With water, dear Laine, dear Laine, dear Laine, with water, dear Laine, dear Laine, water!"

"With what shall I fetch it, dear Meghna, dear Meghna, with what shall I fetch it, dear Meghna, with what?"

"With a bucket, dear Laine, dear Laine, dear Laine, with a bucket, dear Laine, dear Laine, a bucket!"

The song pauses, and then we both sing the last stanza in unison.

"But there's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza, there's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, a hole!" We hold the last note for a while before breaking off in laughter. I notice a few of the other tributes staring at us, but ignore them.

"Hey, Laine?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to be allies?"

"Sure!" she chirps without hesitation. She beams at me, and I smile back.

So, I've already had some fun and gotten an ally.

Maybe the Games won't be so bad after all.


	11. Soulless

Author's Note: 28 REVIEWS. It hasn't even been 28 chapters. *flails in joy* I love you guys. I'll probably do a reviewer-reward thing again this time, but my total review goal will be higher. BD

One more chapter to the Games, all~!

* * *

**Vash Zerlan, District 2**

We're getting dressed up for the interviews now.

It's an ordeal. The assistant stylists can't decide what looks best on me, what kind of makeup I should be wearing, and how exactly they're going to style my hair. And of course, the whole time they're debating this, they have to jabber on about it.

Now, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's being surrounded by people. I just like to be left alone. Probably stems from having no one around in my childhood even before I got sent to the orphanage.

Ah, the orphanage. Such a wonderful place, filled to the brim with filthy, half-naked, starving children either crying loudly for parents they've lost or taking their misery out on others. It's no surprise I preferred to slip away and spend my time in solitude.

Oh, but I would get caught. The orphanage didn't like their cargo unaccounted for, so when I didn't manage to come back as stealthily as I had left, there was a whip reserved for me.

I hated it so much. All of it. The crowd, the noise, the lack of food—made worse by the larger children stealing others' rations—the beatings, the incessant crying in the lice-infested bunks every nightfall.

So, one time I snuck away—and didn't come back.

Life on the streets is nearly impossible in District 2. It's a well-off district—at least, if you don't count the orphanages—so curbside mendicants are few and far between.

And, I was a scrawny, dirty, little kid. People didn't have pity for me. Or if they did, they'd try to get me to talk, tell them where I lived. Which, of course, I couldn't, because I'd be summarily shipped back to the orphanage.

But a few people weren't so bad. I'd offer myself up for any sort of odd job with pay or food, and I had some takers. So, all those inane, disgusting jobs no one in their right mind would do… I did. And that's how I survived for a few years on my own.

In my quest to distance myself from the orphanage, I one day stumbled across the head Career trainer. And he offered me a job no one else had—to win the Hunger Games.

I was 10 years old at the time, so it obviously wasn't going to be a quick, cheap way for the district to bring home a victory. The man had something else in mind. I was just a kid living the streets with no values. A blank slate. And he saw the chance to make whatever kind of Career he wanted to out of me.

And, seven years later, he's apparently done his job. While the only reason I took up his offer was for the room and board, I still did my best in that place. It was harsh, but I was harsher.

So here I am now. After accumulating survival skills, killing techniques, and a decent amount of muscle, I'm only a day away from the Games themselves.

I'm not excited. I'm not scared, either. I'm just… here. Ready. Ready to kill. Ready to die. Whatever happens is fine with me. I'll kill a man with no regrets, and I'll die with no regrets. Whether I win or die, I won't be going back to the same life. And that's all I really want.

…Although, on second thought, a little silence would be nice, too.

Just as I reach the brink of strangling the stylists to make them shut up, they finally seem to finish. My blonde hair's a bit shorter, and I might be missing a few eyebrow hairs, but otherwise, I can't discern what they've done to me.

In whatever case, the head stylist finally arrives with a plastic-covered outfit in his hands. The assistants back away, still giggling amongst themselves, as he approaches me.

"Time for your costume!" he trills excitedly. I just look back at him blankly, and he seems to have second thoughts about being so cheerful.

Whatever I've done, I'm glad I did it—he keeps pretty quiet as he assembles my costume on my person. In a few minutes, I'm all made up in a quarrier's outfit, complete with some fake stone-cutting tools.

I don't think it looks very good on me, but then again, I don't really care. If sponsors are going off looks, then that's their own problem. If they want to spend their money on someone who's strong enough to win, then they can do that, too.

Doesn't make any difference to me.

**Dardana Angstrom, District 2**

This is taking too long.

The assistant stylists are babbling, trying to get a response from me, while the head stylist waits patiently for them to stop.

I don't have time for this. We need to be finished so we can go have our interviews, and then finally, _finally_, we arrive in the arena.

I've already been waiting long enough. Ever since that lucky brat from 10 killed my best friend Corianne two years ago, I've been plotting my revenge.

It's been a long two years. Although I was a Career just as long as Corianne—us entering the center at the same time is probably one of the reasons we were such good friends—those days training seemed to suddenly stretch out forever after her death. Because I finally had a reason for being there, besides the money and the fame. I wanted revenge.

And I wanted it _right then_.

But the heads of the facility didn't think I was ready. Didn't feel how strong my need to kill was.

So two years passed. And now, at the age of sixteen, I'm finally here.

But it still seems a long way off before I can kill the boy from 10.

—Yes, that's my revenge. Even though the 10 that killed Corianne is long gone, his district still stands. So I'll have to take my revenge on it instead of him.

But you know what? Vengeance is vengeance. It doesn't matter whom I kill. I just need to make them pay for what happened to my best friend.

Corianne and I... We don't go back all that much, but that makes us no less friends. We hadn't seen a hair of each other before Hunger Games training, actually—unless you count squishing each other in a simultaneous effort to get through the front door.

She was a year older than me, and a lot prettier. I was always jealous of her, not only for that, but for how much better she seemed to be with every weapon in the place. I never approached her—I was usually too busy seething over everything going for her that wasn't going for me.

Then, one day, the officials paired us up for a spar.

I couldn't figure out why. She was obviously better than me, no matter what kind of weapon we would fight with. I breifly entertained the notion that maybe, just maybe, I had ostensibly matched her in something—but that illusion didn't last long.

Corianne just dominated the fight. Even though I was fighting with a spadroon, what's always been my weapon of choice, she still bested me with hers. The whole fight was just a joke.

But, somehow, in the few moments the battle spanned, I made an impression on her. She wasn't impressed—it's impossible to impress her with much of anything—put I had piqued her interest. She offered to help me out a little with my technique.

I was wary to accept the offer at first. A hand extended by the enemy, when I could easily help myself up in time? But... Somewhere, I realised my jealousy was just beaten-down respect, and I gave in.

And I'm very glad I did.

I can't say we were instantly best buddies, but we got along. It took a while, but soon we were joking around and chatting about the hot Career boys and trying to best each other at all of the non-weaponry stations. We were inseparable.

And then her opportunity came. And then her death came.

I've been waiting to avenge her ever since. And I'm going to do it.

If only the stylists would be a little quicker.


	12. The Person You Know

**Sadik Ottoman, District 8**

I tug at my collar, but my shirt isn't getting any less itchy.

District 8's industry is textiles, so dress us up in clothes, and you've got it. The outfits for our district are never very creative.

...Not that I pay that much attention to the outfits. Or the Hunger Games themselves, for that matter. Although we have to watch them at school, and we're supposed to watch a certain number of hours at home... There aren't enough Peacekeepers to completely enforce it. I usually end up sitting in the living room with the rest of the family fingering through a book or something. And if the Peacekeepers knock on our door, well, there's a very convenient throw pillow to stash the book behind for the second it takes to let them in.

It's not that I particularly like reading. It's just a much better alternative to the Games. Honestly, I've done my best to ignore them since I first figured out people were dying.

...But it's kind of hard to ignore now. I'm sort of in the middle of it.

In the middle of the interviews, at least. District One has only just kicked off the event, so it'll be a while before I'm reached.

The girl from 1, Ania, is the first interviewed—if you could call it that. Caesar pretty well has to drag the answers out of her; she doesn't seem to like talking much.

The District 1 boy, Rome, is much more talkative than his counterpart. It's easy to see he's going for the friendly-and-fun angle.

Next is District 2. The first up, Dardana, immediately makes her purpose clear: she's going to kill the boy from 10. The mentioned tribute apparently has no idea why she wants to do such a thing, but he believes her enough to look a bit intimidated.

District 2's boy, Vash, is about as garrulous as Ania and doesn't seem to have much of an angle at all other than detached.

The 3 girl, Lovi, is probably attempting for some sort of dainty, pretty angle, but constantly snaps out of character when she's asked certain questions.

Her district partner, Spain, is going for a friendly-and-approachable angle, and I'm led to believe it's not that farfetched.

From 4, the girl Taberah isn't quite like a typical Career. She doesn't seem to have much of an angle herself, but she certainly doesn't sound deadly.

Her counterpart, Wiremu, is pulling a mischievous-and-dangerous angle.

The girl from 5, Perdita, is supposed to be a sweet little girl just trying to get home. She's the most convincing I've seen yet.

And the 5 boy, Igris, is going for a sort of gentlemanly role, although he seems to be easily irritated by Caesar's questions.

China from 6 is pulling a smart-survivalist angle with a little extra energy.

6's boy, Fronce, is going for a more flirtatious-and-charming persona, which works very well for him.

District Seven comes up, and the girl, Laine, is as hyperly perky as she's been the whole time in the Training Center.

Her district counterpart, Eston, has a similar angle to China's, but with a little more emphasis on the smart bit. While I doubt any of the audience understands his short speech on circuitry, that's probably its purpose—to make him seem so much more intelligent than everyone else.

The ending bell buzzes, and our district has finally gotten its turn. Greis, of course, is first, so I'm still waiting, but…

After a moment of pause, the crowd seems to realise Greis hasn't walked up yet. I look away from them and toward my districtmate—

Yup. She's fallen asleep.

Normally I wouldn't care about her missing her shot—she's a lazy brat sometimes—but if she doesn't wake up, my interview might get cut short.

"Greis!" I whisper loudly. She doesn't budge. I consider seeing if an elbow to the face would evoke a better response but stop myself. If I give her so much as a bruise, I might get in trouble.

"Wake up, you idiot!" I growl directly into her ear.

"Don't call me an idiot."

She finally stirs with a yawn, and I pull back to my seat to let her get up.

...In case you were wondering, we're not allies.

**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

So much for sleeping through the interviews. You'd think if I stayed asleep long enough, they'd just skip over me and finish the thing.

But my district partner believes differently. I probably could have let him keep whispering and growling at me like an idiot, but then my tendency of sleeping would seem more like a weakness than an I-just-don't-care-about-this sort of thing.

So I can only keep up that appearance by answering Caesar's questions in a very bored tone and yawning a lot. Not as beneficial as a good hour's shut-eye.

But, soon enough, my part of the interview is over, so I trudge back to my seat. Sadik gives me an unapproving shake of the head before he gets up.

Yeah. Like I care what he thinks about it. The freak wears an eye mask 24-7, and he thinks his judgement is better than mine?

Coincidentally enough, Caesar's first question to Sadik is about the mask.

"Oh, this?" the idiot responds, loosely holding a hand to the thing. It's an off-white, 8-shaped piece of something papery, with small, almond-shaped slits for the eyes and nothing else to it. "Well, long story short, it started as a dare, turned into an inside joke, and... I just kind of wear it all the time now."

Hm. Sure. I bet he just has an ugly face. It must not be anything decent since his stylists have allowed him to keep the mask on.

But Caesar seems convinced enough, saying something to the audience I don't quite catch. It must have been a joke, because they immediately roar in laughter.

Caesar waits for it to die down, then continues with the less interesting part of the interview. Sadik's an only child, with both parents. I don't have any siblings, either, but the similarities stop there. I just have a mother. Dad... I never really knew. He had gotten an arm caught in machinery or something as a child, so he could never work as well as others. A lot of the time he was without a job. Then he met my mother. They got along for a while, married, and all that good stuff. It worked out well until he lost the use of his other hand.

I don't know exactly what happened. It must have been horrible because my mom never told me. But much later, when I started asking around, I learnt that once he couldn't work anymore, and once our debts started piling up, and once he put all of the guilt on his shoulders... He got a Peacekeeper to shoot him.

I was really young when it happened. I was just convinced he had gone off on that vacation Mom said he deserved so much. All I really knew was, without his health to fret about, our expenses got lower, and Mom could get me more nice things. I was at the stage in life where that was practically all that mattered. So, I never worried about it.

I wonder what it was like for her, though. She must have loved him. I don't remember if she was all that withdrawn, if she just put on a smiling mask when I walked into the room... But she must have been miserable.

...I wonder what she'll feel like if I die, too. I can't say I have the best odds in the arena. I'm barely sixteen—eight of the tributes are older than me, including my districtmate, who's seventeen—so I'll have a disadvantage in general strength. I'm probably smarter than the lot of them, but smart people don't tend to win the Hunger Games.

So, I really couldn't say if I could win. I'll definitely try. While I'm not terrified by the concept of death—as far as I can see, it's just more sleeping—I'm not going to pursue it like Dad did.

I'll just do my best, and, if some miracle happens...

Mom won't have to lose the last family she has.


	13. Fate Arrives

Author's Note: YES! THE GAMES ARE HERE! *does a happy dance*

And that means so are the Recommended Listenings! This chapter's is Right Now by Van Halen.

To _Brutal _fans: Please don't hate me for my uncreativity with the arena. I just thought this would be a cool idea.

* * *

**Laine Berna, District 7**

I nibble on the last of the breakfast roll nervously. While I haven't let myself worry about the Games before—they're just so _close _now. I'm already dressed up in the arena clothes: a plain T-shirt, a dusty-brown hooded jacket, some boot-cut blue jeans, plain old socks, and sturdy shoes.

Wow. _Wow_. The Games are really, really close…

I tap my feet together a few times.

Come on, now. No need to psych yourself out about it, right?

Come to think of it, the clothes _are _really comfortable. It's kind of nice to have comfy things to wear, you know? Like you're all snug up at home, giggling with your friends.

And that can happen here, too, right? Because I'm friends with Meghna.

So it's not so bad after all!

I try to keep that in mind as I'm led to the glass-tube elevator.

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

The Launch Room's platform slowly ascends, leaving me to take a few deep breaths in the darkness before I'm thrust into the arena.

The brightness of the light is such a change that at first I can't see my surroundings at all. I can only smell something faintly sweet and feel the sunshine through the chilly breeze.

My temporary blindness finally starts to fade, but when I take my first look at the environment, only one thought goes through my head.

_This is where my sister died._

It's not just the Cornucopia gleaming in the sunlight, or the circle of tributes around it—I swear the environment is _exactly the same_.

_This is where my sister died._

The ring of bushes with colourful blooms is just beyond the edge of the metre-tall rock wall fencing us in.

_This is where my sister died._

The grass is the same, too, lush and green, and—is that a blood stain? Right at the inner edge of the bushes?

_This is where my sister died._

No—I-I'm just seeing things now. But... it's hard not to... Just... just _being _here... I can practically see her—running off her platform, out to the hedges to escape—being snatched back by the girl from 2—being beaten, smashed... killed...

The Gamemakers did this on purpose. They knew I was here, so they reconstructed the starting stage just to get to me.

...And I think it's working.

**Celladora Talith, District 12**

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 45th annual Hunger Games begin!"

I still have one minute before I can step off my plate.

I'm going for the Cornucopia. District 12 doesn't tend to draw sponsors very well, so I can't rely on them. And I need a weapon if I'm going to survive. So the gleaming golden horn is my only option.

I scan over its opening systematically. Medical supplies, blankets, and bags of fruit make up most of the bottom layer. A few articles of clothing are strewn over that—and then the weapons start to appear. A plain-looking bow seems to be the easiest to get to, but it's of no use to me.

A few centimetres to its left, though, lies a sturdy-looking pickaxe.

I obviously haven't worked in the mines—but knowing how hard coal can be sometimes, how repeatedly the miners have to use those things, and how long they're still useful—I'd say it's a pretty good bet.

I've just decided on this when the starting gong finally sounds.

Bolting for the Cornucopia, I don't take a second to look at anything other than that pickaxe. It is my goal. Everything else is irrelevant.

Nothing trips me up before I get there, and I lay hands on the wooden handle easily. I start to tug it out of its place in the pile, and all goes smoothly until, suddenly, my hands aren't the only ones on the weapon.

Not daring to stop pulling, I only let my gaze flash to my competitor long enough to figure out he's not a Career.

The pickaxe finally slides out, and, before I know it, I'm caught in a tug-of-war for the thing.

"Let go!" I strain to pull the pickaxe to myself, but the other tribute won't let me.

He's stronger. But I can't give up. I need a weapon, and this is the only chance I'm going to get to obtain one.

I put all of my weight into the struggle, and the pickaxe just starts to amble into my direction—

—Then it's suddenly shoved into my chest.

Before I realise what I'm doing, I lose my grip, and the other tribute pulls away, leaving me to crumple to the ground in pain.

...What's going on? I-I'm not dying. I can't be dying. It can't end this way. I-I have to get back to... to Avian...

I... I told him I'd come back...

But the pain's not getting any better. The world starts to dull around me.

But... Avian...

Everything goes black.

**Perdita Adva, District 5**

Once the gong chimes, I make a run for it. My chances here are bad enough without thrusting myself straight into the Careers' arms.

The grass, although long, isn't bumpy and doesn't trip me up as I progress to the edge of this part of the arena. The hedges just past here are kind of high, though, so I'll have to climb over them.

—Someone grabs my arm. I shriek. I try to keep going, but the boy who seized me is too strong, and I'm only pulled closer to him.

"Too bad you're so young," he sighs, not sounding sad. "Oh, well. I'll just make it quick."

"N-No—!"

Unable to resist, I'm thrown to the ground, and before I can try to crawl away, a foot slams into my back.

I want to shout at him to leave me alone, but I'm sobbing too much to get any words out.

I-I don't want to die!

The Career digs his grimy hands into my hair and pulls my head backward uncomfortably.

I-I just want to go home, a-and have my birthday party... Be with my friends...

But I know I can't. I'm done for. So I want to... to at least say goodbye...

I struggle to steady my breathing and get my mouth open.

—But something collides hard with the back of my neck, and I feel the vertebrae snap before I can say a word.

**Dardana Angstrom, District 2**

Those freaking Gamemakers. I'm sure they've been working on some nice arena for months—but the second they find out _I'm _coming, they change their plans completely.

I guess it is possible with all of the Capitol technology to build an arena in a little over a week. It's probably not as complete, but what do they care? They're just here to screw with the tributes, anyway.

So they might as well replicate the place my best friend was murdered.

Right on the mountainside. And what do you know—the arena's a mountain again.

Well, fine. If the Gamemakers want to make me fret about it, well, they're going to fail. Because you know what? No, I'm not over her death—but it's still fine. The 10's are here. And as long as I can avenge Corianne by killing them, I don't give a crap what the arena looks like.

I'm at the Cornucopia now, searching for weapons. I need to hurry, because I'll be really ticked off if the 10's get away before I find something good to kill them with.

But it's hard to find crap. Not only are two non-Careers squabbling over a weapon in the middle of the pile, the Careers are all sorting through the pointy objects themselves. My districtmate, Vash, is almost right next to me, fishing out a crossbow.

If I get distracted, the 10's could get away, so I ignore him and persist in trying to find something suitable for me.

"Wonder how well this thing fires."

Ticked off, I turn toward him and snap, "Quit trying to distract—"

I'm cut off by a bolt going through my brain.


	14. Wrapping Up

Author's Note: Aaaah, look at all of the reviews~! I love your comments, guys.

Recommended Listening: For Those About to Rock (We Salute You) by AC/DC

* * *

**Meghna Cinge, District 10**

There's a little bag of beef jerky right in front of me. So, when the gong goes off, I dart forward and snatch it.

It's not a mistake, right? People can get out with things from the Cornucopia, so something this close should be even easier to get away with.

But I'm still not going to attempt the Cornucopia. This is enough for now.

I turn around and start running for the hedges.

The girl who was on the platform next to me, Perdita, has been grabbed by Wiremu, who was next to her. I almost stop. But I can't.

I turn my gaze back to the outside of the circle.

"Ah! Laine's already out!" I speed back up, nearing the bushes. "And if she can escape, so can I—!"

Something clicks. Although I'm not so dumb as to stop or slow down, I cast a glance back before getting my hands on the rocky wall fencing me in.

The Career from 2 stands a metre away from me, his crossbow carefully aimed toward me.

"Ah, but there's a hole in your logic, dear Meghna," he says in a monotone with a smirk. "And there's about to be one in your head."

He fires.

**Laine Berna, District 7**

I hop the wall and keep running.

Good! The bloodbath's behind me. I can still hear the voices—although there are some other sounds I'd really rather not pay attention to. Everything sort of melds together, though, until one statement breaks through.

"The bunny girl's getting away! Taberah!"

Ulp! That's me!

My feet pound a little harder on the rocks—luckily I'm doing a lot more running than climbing right now—but I'm far from reaching shelter before another set of footsteps joins me.

"Hey!" Taberah calls, her voice a little closer than I'd like.

"Uh, hi?" I squeak back. I don't turn around to look, but I feel like she's gaining on me.

It's okay, Laine. Just keep running!

I keep sprinting over the stretch of rock, but both my heart's pounding and Taberah's footsteps are getting louder.

—And then there's suddenly something long and sharp through my stomach.

I stop running with a pained gasp as she wrenches the thing back out of me. Sensing the lack of possibility of my escaping, Taberah walks around quietly to my front. I now see what she got me with: a bright orange, pointed lance.

As she thrusts it through me one last time, I think to myself with a laugh how much the thing looks like a carrot.

**Eston von Bock, District 7**

Luckily enough, Raivis's circle is visible from mine. When the gong sounds, I take a quick step back and run for his circle along the outside of all of the platforms.

I chose the right path—all of the people I pass end up dashing toward the Cornucopia instead of getting in my way. The ever-hesitating Raivis, though, hasn't stepped away from his platform by the time I get to him.

"Come on!" I say, grabbing his wrist. "Let's get out of here!"

"Ah! Right!" he responds, not objecting when I give his arm a brief jerk away from the chaos to get him going.

We run straight for the hedges—there's nothing useful enough nearby to warrant a suicide mission toward the Cornucopia—and no one comes up to stop us.

At least, not until we've stepped over the bushes.

"You two!"

My ally immediately freezes in place and starts shaking at the other tribute's voice, while I keep the presence of mind to put my hands on the stony wall.

The tribute who called us strides forward quickly, and I don't get the chance to pull myself over, let alone Raivis, before he continues.

"Come viz me—now—or I vill kill you immediately."

I briefly consider continuing on my current path, but, considering how Vahn is very tall and could easily reach us—not to mention how he's wielding a pickaxe already dripping with blood—decide not to.

Raivis whimpers, but when Vahn clears the stone barrier and looks back at us expectantly, progresses trembling forward.

We both pull ourselves over the meadow area's edge and roll over onto the mountainside.

"Good choice," Vahn condones, looking down on us as we get to our feet. "Let's get going, shall vee?"

**Sve Oxenstierna, District 11**

The chaos of the bloodbath seems to be over. Finni, safe in my grasp, and I are hovering at the edge of the meadow, waiting for the Careers to take note of us.

I've already gotten in and out of the Cornucopia, the occupied sheath slung across my waist proof. It was an easier task than expected, since Vash's sudden shooting of his own district partner stirred up the Careers so much.

Now the Careers are sorting through the Cornucopia weapons, which they've strewn across the grass. The tributes from 1 pick out swords almost instantly, while the boy from 4 is still undecided. His districtmate just now rearrives, her lance slick with blood.

"So," she starts, panting slightly, "where do we want to set up camp?"

Wiremu looks up toward the summit. "Well, the Careers two years ago set up a camp at the top of the mountain."

"Didn't all of the Careers two years ago die?" Ania points out.

"Point taken."

While it may not be the best time to make my entrance... Finni is shaking. Terrified of these people. I want to comfort her as soon as possible. Because she'll be safe here. If she wouldn't, I wouldn't put her here.

I step further into the Careers' field of sight. "I suggest we set up camp right here."

I've finally gotten their attention. Luckily, none of them seem overtly bloodthirsty—a few weapons are raised threateningly, but no one attacks.

"What do you mean, 'we'?" finally responds Wiremu.

"I mean, 'we'." I stride closer, my still-trembling districtmate in tow. "Finni and I are joining this alliance."

"Really?" Ania responds, making it sound more like a statement than a question. "And what makes you think we'll let you join?"

"My nine in training?" I suggest coolly.

That seems to be quite the convincing argument. While no one rejects the idea, no one seems eager to accept me into the alliance, either.

"And you seem to be missing a few people," I state, referring to the lack of District 2 tributes in the alliance. The girl is gone, of course, since she was killed in the bloodbath, and the boy decided he'd rather take his chances on his own than stay with the other Career tributes.

"Well, I don't see any problem with letting you join," finally says Rome, leaning on the Cornucopia with a grin. "But, uh, as for the lady... We do some pretty dangerous things, you know. Think she can handle it?"

I glance behind my back at Finni, who only seems more terrified at the 1's statement.

"Don't be scared," I tell her softly. Looking back at the Careers, I nod.

"All right, then," Rome responds, pushing himself off the golden horn and standing on his own. "Welcome aboard."

**Natalya Larus, District 9**

_Where is my brother?_

I continue to stomp around the mountainside, but he is nowhere to be found.

Dang it! Somehow my starting platform faced the tail of the Cornucopia, and his the front. I didn't see a bit of him. I just dove in close to the bloodbath scene to get a small knife lying there and ran back out. Although I made a full circle around the meadow a few moments later, Vahn must have already been gone.

I didn't see him among the corpses, and he can certainly fend for himself, so I'm not worried about him. I know he'll survive, with or without me.

But I cannot survive without him. I can fight for myself, I can find food, and I can get water. But I need him to _really _survive.

But he's nowhere around.

I'll just have to keep looking.


	15. Off We Go

Author's Note: I hope everyone is having/has had a merry Christmas! Whether or not you actually celebrate it, I still don't mind you having a good day. ;)

Recommended Listening: Forever in Blue by Journey (I bet no one's heard of this one, ha.)

* * *

**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

I'm out. The bloodbath is already far behind us, but Spain and I are still running.

He met up with me a few seconds after the gong sounded, although I could have come to him just as easily. Because I _obviously_ wasn't cowering in dread of the impeding bloodbath. Of course not. I'd _never_ do anything like that. Ever.

So I just waited for him on my platform—_waited, _because I definitely wasn't just paralysed with fear in _any_ way, manner, or form—and he ran over. Somehow there was enough time for him to snap up a hammer from the grass on the way, so we at least have one type of weapon.

Well, I could have gotten one, too, but... You know, I was waiting for him to come, and it could have thrown him off if I went anywhere. Yeah.

So I did a good job of letting him find me. And now we're clambering around the rocks, trying to find some sort of shelter. It's kind of weird, because Spain acts like he's been here before. He's probably just trying to comfort me. Even though I clearly don't need it.

"And there should be a crater... Aha!" he says to himself, stopping poised in a climbing position.

"What?" I try to duck my head around him, but I can't see past.

"Looks like they've arranged the arena about the same way as it was two years ago," he answers, starting to climb down. "This isn't quite a forest anymore, but it's still shelter."

I follow him down the rocks, and after a while, I finally see what he found us.

The crater, as he called it, is swarming with giant, dark green leaves. Beneath them, some dark trunks and their coats of vines start to appear. The abrupt, rocky edge of the environment obscures the very bottom of it. But it's obviously intended to be some sort of jungle.

We progress carefully until we've finally gotten to the wall. I start to pull myself over, and then Spain decides to help me by lifting my ankle up.

I immediately kick his hand away.

"I can climb perfectly well by myself, thank you," I huff, putting my foot back on the ground. I get on my tiptoes, and then hop up, using the momentum to help pull myself over. My ribcage clears the wall easily, but I... hesitate—I _don't _get stuck—and teeter on my midsection. I'm here for a few seconds before Spain has the nerve to tip me up and over.

I tumble onto the wet ferns with an "oomph". Spain has gotten himself into the jungle by the time I'm back on my feet, trying to sweep some of the mouldy-smelling water off me.

"You're welcome," he says slowly.

"I didn't need your help," I grumble, picking some wet, brown pieces of leaves off my jeans.

Spain raises an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"Yes." I glare at him, and within a few seconds, he shrugs and backs down.

"Let's see if we can find some water in here."

**Raivis Lithu, District 12**

Eston and I climb quietly behind our abductor.

Or, at least, _Eston_ does. I'm shaking too hard not to dislodge my fair share of small rocks and send them tumbling down the mountainside with a sharp series of clacks.

While I do tend to scare easily, I think I have a better excuse than usual. I'm in the Hunger Games, where my brother _died, _and I'm following a weapon-brandishing murderer up a crumbling mountain I can't believe I haven't fallen off yet.

It's not fun.

Before I manage to lose my grip in a way that would send me tumbling, Vahn stops.

"What is it?" calls Eston.

"Vee haev found some shelter!" Vahn announces, climbing up a little further and disappearing over an outcropping. Eston climbs in after him, and I'm left to clamber up by myself.

The mountain's kind of steep here, so I can't see whatever shelter that's apparently been found, but I keep going up, anyway. My hands meet the rough row of stones the others vanished over, and I pull myself up. Struggling to get my feet up to the ridge, I lay on the little wall for a moment before pivoting over into the supposed shelter.

My feet meet sand, and the memories start surging.

_He touches down in the sand, panting for a moment before he's able to keep running._

O-Oh, no.

_The boy from 9 enters the sandy area and starts bolting after my brother._

_Toris continues to dash through the little desert, the 9 in hot pursuit. My brother suddenly stumbles, sprawling into the sand._

Sand—this is-is where my brother...

_He just manages to get up and start running before the 9 reaches him._

_But the race is far closer now._

Where he—died!

_Toris seems to be doing well at last, but, abruptly, the ground opens up under his feet, and, the sand beneath him streaming down into some spontaneous opening, he starts to fall._

_The 9 plucks my brother away and quickly runs a knife through his neck._

Before I know it, I'm screaming and frantically scrabbling my feet upward toward anywhere, anywhere without sand! Unable to look someplace else, I stare down in horror at the dustily-ashen ground.

"Raivis! Raivis!" It takes a good minute of screaming before my voice has faded enough for me to hear my ally's shouting. Half-panting, half-whimpering, I drag my gaze upward. Eston and Vahn are staring perplexedly back at me, both standing in the shallows of some sort of shore.

So we're not in a desert, at least... But... I-It's still sand.

"Eez zere a problem?"

I stare uncomprehendingly at Vahn for a minute before I can respond. "Y-Yes—n-n-n-no—I-I—j-j-just don't—d-d-don't make me s-s-s-stand here!" I beseech, on the brink of tears.

Vahn looks at me for a moment, then turns around and dips a cupped hand into the water next to him. He brings it up to his mouth to drink, but abruptly spits it back out.

"Salt." He shakes his hand, flinging water droplets back to their home before turning back toward me. "All right. Vee cane go elsevere."

"Th-th-thank you," I say breathlessly, trembling from my arms carrying almost all of my weight.

Vahn comes back to the edge, and, once Eston has helped me back over, we set off again.

**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

The Careers are idiots. One of them shoots his own ally, which is dumb enough, but then everyone else freaks out so much that _any_ tribute could have gotten in and out of the Cornucopia.

Like I did. I'm not sure exactly what the weapon I got is, but it's got enough weight to it, I can hold it easily, and the curve of its semicircular form is nice and sharp. Not to mention, I got a decently-heavy knapsack of food and a full canteen half the size of my head.

Amazing how much that Cornucopia can hold. I guess it's supposed to have enough for everyone, although under normal circumstances a good half of the tributes don't even attempt to reach it. Because the Cornucopia is usually a slaughterhouse. But, since the Careers this year aren't all that bright, only five people died in the bloodbath. Hardly a massacre.

Not many of the other tributes seemed to realise this, though. While I wasn't carefully counting everyone that came before or after me for goodies, I'd say it was no more than a sixth of the crowd. Most people still assumed everything would go about the same way and didn't stick around long.

Well. I guess they'll get to pay for that.

As for me, I'm thinking I'll find some sort of shelter, down a bit of water, and curl up for a well-deserved nap.


	16. Roaming

Author's Note: 50 reviews! Squee! I would type out how joyful I am, but it would probably exceed the word limit somehow. But, thanks, really!

For those of you interested, I put up a poll! I'd really like you to vote.

Recommended Listening: China Grove by The Doobie Brothers

* * *

**China Wang, District 6**

"Aiyah!" I sigh, leaning back against the rocks for a minute. I don't know how long I've actually been climbing, but it seems like at least an hour.

Wiping a little sweat from my brow, I take a gulp from my canteen. The little, blue-grey thing was full when I picked it up a metre away from the Cornucopia, but it's half-empty now.

I screw the lid back on the canteen and jam it into my jacket pocket. I've long since taken the hooded clothing off—while the mountain seems pretty chilly at first, that changes pretty quickly once you're climbing around—so it's tied carefully around my waist.

Although I'm a bit unwilling to stop resting, I go ahead and put my weight back on my feet. I can rest when I've found some decent shelter.

I trek for a few more minutes, suppressing the urge to settle down on a conveniently-jutting-out ledge.

"...don't understand."

I've gone a few more steps before I seem to realise I've heard human voices. I stop moving, trying to quiet my breath.

"Understand what?"

"How in the _world _the stylists didn't do anything to your eyebrows."

I get the feeling the conversation is becoming louder, but I try to stay calm. Maybe they're just raising their voices.

"What's wrong with my eyebrows?"

A laugh. "They're practically a monstrosity to mankind! Honestly, you could actually be _somewhat _attractive if someone threaded your eyebrows."

"...Do you _ever _say something that sounds straight?"

"About as often as you change the subject of an argument you're losing."

The other speaker sounds ready to retort with something, but stops cold before he completes a single word.

"Hello, there."

"Ah!" I can't help but jump in surprise when two boys come slipping around the corner toward me. They're Fronce, my empty-handed districtmate, and Igris, the 5 who already has a shiny-looking rapier in a sheath around his waist.

"H-Hey," I finally reply properly, crossing my arms in an attempt to look more intimidating. I stare at the boys, and they stare back for a few moments before exchanging a glance among themselves.

"I know you weren't that keen on it before, but," says Fronce, "would you like to be allies?"

"No way!" I immediately spit back. "Like I want to get caught up with a bunch of boys out here!" I motion at Igris's foil. "You'd probably run that through me the second I'm not paying attention!"

Igris glances down at his weapon, and then looks back up. "Well, if I were just going to do that, I wouldn't bother trying to make an alliance with you first."

"All right, makes sense," I concede, recalling his expertise with the weapon in the Training Center. I turn around. "But I'm not going to hang around with _boys _here!"

"We're sort of in the middle of the Hunger Games. In case you haven't noticed, the girls don't tend to be that peaceful, either," points out Igris.

"Then I'll just stay on my own," I huff, leaning back on the mountainside.

"Now you're just being dumb," the 5 scoffs.

"Not wanting to get stabbed in the back in the middle of the night isn't dumb!" I snap back.

Igris stares. "Didn't we already establish that that's not going to happen?"

I scowl. "Why should I trust you guys, anyway?"

"I vote for the 'we still haven't killed you' bit," puts in Fronce.

The allies look at me expectantly, and I evenly meet their gaze.

So. What's the worst that can happen if I don't ally with them? They charge me and kill me. What's the worst that can happen if I do ally with them? They sneak up on me and kill me.

Hm. Well, if I say I ally with them, I could always slip away when they fall asleep. That's less risky than making a break for it now.

"All right, fine. Allies."

**Amer Jones, District 10**

Why don't I have any allies? I asked almost everyone at the Training Centre! I mean, no one actually agreed to it then, but I was sure _someone _would want a friend going into the Games!

But somehow, no one did. So I'm just here, by myself, no food, no water, no weapon, just sitting on the rocks hoping someone will come by.

It's lonely out here. I may not have the most crowded place back home—just me, my parents, and my brother—but anything's better than this.

I wonder how my brother's doing now. I guess he's being made to watch the Games, but I don't think the camera's on me now, since nothing's happening. He's gotta be worried. Even though I told him back in the Justice Centre that I would come home, and that my volunteering for him wasn't anything to freak out about... He's always been kind of quiet and worrisome. I don't think anything short of me winning and coming back home is assurance enough for him.

But I will come back. How unheroic would it be to throw myself into the ring for him just to make him watch me die? I mean, I still don't know how things are going to work out, but... They will. They have to.

I find a pebble by my hand and toss it lightly down the mountainside. It clatters downward, bouncing in random directions until it gets caught in a crevice.

I do this a few more times, but I don't seem to be getting anyone's attention. I could always stand up and yell at the top of my lungs, but that would probably bring the Careers running, too. And I don't want monsters like them as my allies.

...I guess I'll just keep travelling. I have to run into someone sometime.

I get back on my feet and start walking.

**Sadik Ottoman, District 8**

I'm hungry. Climbing around a mountain is a pretty good way to work up an appetite, but I don't have a way to vanquish it. While I did manage to get a tiny knife before fleeing the bloodbath, I didn't get the chance to snatch some food as well.

Luckily enough, I _have _gotten to some shelter—it's kind of strange how the arena is laid out this year, although, considering I never pay much attention to the Games, they might always be this odd—in a crater filled with pine trees. I'm still hanging out near its edge, since I'm wary of what may lurk further in. There's a good chance I'd find some animal to kill—but there's also a good chance it'd be too large for my knife to take out.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Wait for donations? I don't know what my mentor's life is like during the Games, but it might be nice for her to know what her dependant needs.

"...I'm hungry."

There. She's heard it. But no parachutes are coming down.

It shouldn't be my mentor, since she told me she'd do her best to keep me alive. Maybe the funds aren't there. I haven't done much to win the audience over yet, if you don't count the chariot and interviews. But how am I supposed to win them over? "Score" a kill? I might stoop pretty low, but I'm not going to do that. I know I'll have to, eventually, if I want to survive, but... I doubt it's that necessary right now. I'm not going to go out with that purpose.

So, I guess I'll wait. Give the money a little more time to roll in.

Because I know I'm not going to earn it the way the Capitol wants me to.


	17. Threat

Recommended Listening: Blue Collar Man (Long Nights) by Styx

* * *

**Finni Vaina, District 11**

What are we doing here? I know Sve swore to protect me, but is this really the right way to go about it? Surrounding ourselves with the trained killers? I know we're officially allied with them, but...

It's still not comforting.

But I have to act relaxed. If Sve looks over, and I look scared, he gets kind of angry. It must not be at me, since he hasn't said anything, but... It really makes me nervous.

And when I'm nervous, I tend to talk. A lot. Which probably doesn't help at all, because jabbering on about the weather seems to be a little irritating to the less-patient Careers. And the thought of irritating them scares me more, so I end up talking more.

I'm relaying a joke I heard from one of my teachers before someone finally decides to stop me.

"...and for every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction, right? So, don't hit a physicist or he'll hit you back!" I laugh weakly but continuously until Ania steps toward me. I break off with a gulp.

"Now, tell me, what's the use of having this girl in the alliance again?" she demands. "She's been doing nothing but making sure everyone on the mountain can hear exactly where we are."

Sve steps behind me protectively, and I start sweating.

"Oh, come on, Ania," starts Wiremu, walking over casually, "I'm sure she's good for lots of things. Aren't you?"

"U-u-u-u-uh," I stammer.

Wiremu draws closer, leaning in. "I bet you'd be good—" he puts his dirty hand to my chin and pulls my lips dangerously close to his— "for a little fun."

There's just enough time for my eyes to widen in horror before the chaos.

I can't tell what's going on in the whorl of action—I just register Wiremu's hand falling back away from me and the _shing _of unsheathing weaponry, everything jumbled together.

When all has finally settled down—it must have only been a few seconds—I pick out Sve, to my side, holding out his bloodied sword; the Careers, suspicion in their eyes and weapons in their hands readily pointed at my district partner. Pulse throbbing in my ears, I look down.

Wiremu is convulsing, trying madly to stem the flow of blood gushing from his neck and throat but failing.

I look back at Sve quickly, not wanting to take in any more of the scene below. Not doing so much as blinking, he gazes evenly at the threatening crowd. He sheathes his sword slowly, causing a few of the Careers to watch his hand, but none to attack.

"Don't touch Finni," Sve says simply.

As if to underscore him, Wiremu's cannon fires.

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

Even though the jungle takes a lot of thought to get around in, my mind keeps wandering back to the bloodbath.

The girl from 5, Perdita, was almost right next to me; only the male Career from 4 stood between us. And when the gong sounded, Perdita ran. The 4 ran after her. He stopped her, beat her down, and killed her. Just like the 2 did to my sister years ago.

And I did _nothing_.

She was right there. Right there, and I let her die. Sure, I didn't know her, but... It's the basic human impulse to save the weak, isn't it? And it was so achingly similar to Maria's death... And I just let it happen.

I wonder just how similar it was. Did Perdita have a big brother? ...Did she have _any _siblings?

...

How can I not know this? Has the Capitol already taken away so much of my humanity that I let children die next to me, and don't know so much as their abandoned families? It's horrible enough—but for _me_? When such a thing has already happened... When I claim to be such a good person...

I'm no different at all. I'm just as heartless and self-centred as the rest of them.

I hate this place. What it's done to me. Hate it, hate it, _hate_ it—!

All right, calm down. You've let the Capitol do this much to you already. You're not going to let them get you angry, too.

"Uh, Spain?"

I blink and look around for my ally. She's a few metres ahead of me.

"You're the one that suggested we look for water," she huffs, "but I'm doing all the work!"

"Oh! Sorry!" I trot forward to meet her, and we continue searching.

All right... I just... I won't worry about it now. It's in the past, and I need to focus on what's happening now.

But... I'm sorry, Perdita.

Sorry for what the Capitol's done to us both.

**Vash Zerlan, District 2**

It's nice and quiet here. No other tributes seem to have come to this crater, and the ground is so deeply covered in pine needles my footsteps don't make a sound.

Perfect.

I _am_ a Career, so I'll probably have to go hunting again sometime if I want sponsors. But I've killed enough for one day, surely. And I've already had a parachute of supplies sent down, so I'll have a decent lunch.

If only my whole life could be this nice. A nice patch of sunshine amidst the otherwise-fresh forest to sit in, promise of a good meal, nothing much expected of me.

And all in wonderful, wonderful silence.

I let myself doze for a little while, but I'm woken up. Someone else is stomping around.

With a sigh—of course it couldn't last forever—I grab the crossbow and stand back up.

It sounded like the intruder was to my right, so I set off that way. The sharply-scented carpet dips under my feet as I step over, and soon, the other tribute pulls into sight.

It's the guy with the mask. I don't remember his name, or his district. Wasn't really paying attention. He's pacing in a little semicircle at the edge of the forest, looking kind of worried.

Don't know what he's worried about or why he's here, but he's about to die.

I load my crossbow with the tiniest of clicks, but the other tribute perks up and faces me. Although they're hard to make out, his eyes visibly widen, and he scrambles back toward the edge, throwing himself over.

I walk after him slowly, stopping where the sea of pine needles ends. He's hurrying down the side of the mountain, not casting a glance back.

Hm. He's just about out of range now. But I don't really feel like running after him. He's out of my forest. That's good enough.

I wander back to my patch of sunshine and settle back down.

**Rome Gnaeus, District 1**

I have to say, things have gotten a lot more tense around here since Sve killed Wiremu. Although none of us seem to feel like doing something to either of the 11's to show we're still in control, we are. I don't care if Sve got a 9 in training—Ania got a 10, and I got an 11. There's nothing to be afraid of.

...Although, truthfully, I'm pretty glad Wiremu did what he did before I tried to flirt with Finni. Ouch.

Of course, it's pretty obvious she's taken by now. She doesn't seem all that keen on Sve, but, uh, in whatever case, I don't think I'll interfere. At least, not until Sve's out of the picture.

But I'm not in a rush. There's no reason to hurry things; it's only the first day.

And, admittedly, the arena's not the best place to woo the ladies. For the most part, I'll have to wait until I get home. Although I get the feeling completely refraining would drive me mad.

So I suppose I'll have to go after Ania. She may not be that emotional, but we all know she's in love with me. She must be. Any girl that's been around me as long as she has must fall for me. It's been proven time and again with everyone in the Tribute Training Facility.

So, I'll get her to reveal her feelings at some point, and maybe see how long it takes for Finni to fall for me as well.

We'll just have to see how everything plays out.


	18. Picky, Picky

Author's Note: Admittedly, I'm sort of inconsistent with Vahn's accent. It's always the same, but sometimes I decide not to include certain pronunciations so his lines are easier to read. Hope I don't throw too many people off.

Recommended Listening: Peace of Mind by Boston

* * *

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

Hard to believe it's only suppertime. Our alliance has already reached the peak of the mountain—which had its own crater, but it was empty, as if there wasn't enough time to put anything worthwhile in it—and gone back down the other side. We settled in a cozy crater whose environment is akin to a sort of prarie. It's admittedly not the best place to hide, but there is a large enough tree in the middle that could shelter us if need be.

So, perfectly settled, we debate on which of us is going to cook. After about ten minutes of insulting the others' cooking skills, we then decide rock-paper-scissors would probably be a better way to go about this.

Fronce wins, beating both of us in the first shot—I bet he cheated somehow—so China and I begrudgingly hand over the cooking supplies we've been donated.

We've gotten quite a lot of donations, actually. My rapier was first, and then food and plastic plates and things started raining down after that.

I guess having a very rich family to back you isn't that undesirable in the Hunger Games.

So, as the light starts to dim—although I'm not sure how, as there's no sun in sight here—China and I wait all but patiently for Fronce to finish making our supper.

"If I were cooking, we'd already be eating by now," I can't help but grumble.

"If you were cooking, we'd already have food poisoning by now," retorts Fronce.

"Because, obviously, I—!"

"Will you two shut up already?" interrupts China. "You've been going at it all day! Neither of you is really going to win an argument if you just keep making new ones! And—" she turns to me—"if you want him to hurry up, how about letting him focus on his work instead of distracting him?"

"All right, all right," I respond, holding my hands up in mock surrender.

Though the near-silence that ensues is stifling, Fronce does manage to finish cooking before the non-existent sun goes down.

Hm. No sun, no top crater... No mutts so far... Feels like the arena's just not quite complete.

Although I may just be jumping to conclusions.

Fronce dishes out the meat on three plates and ladles some bluish sauce over them. The biggest chunks of meat are handed out to himself and me, while the slightly smaller one—one a bit less decorated with sauce—is given to China.

"Yours is bigger than mine!" China immediately objects.

"It's not my fault Mr. Eyebrows's sponsors can't send him equally-sized pieces."

"Well, if you're not going to give me any more meat, at least put some more sauce on it! There's no way meat cooked like you cooked it is juicy enough to be fine without as much—"

"Apologies, Miss Cooking-Show Celebrity," I can't help but put in impatiently. "Just eat your bloody food."

"Fine." China grumbles something else I can't make out and finally starts to eat.

**Vahn Larus, District 9**

My alliance has settled for the night in a crater with nothing but a very large tree to fill it. I instruct the other two to take watches for a while, since I'll be going to sleep immediately.

Although I don't have any sort of pillow or blanket, the giant roots aren't that uncomfortable, and I'm pretty well used to cold from being in District 9. I settle down snugly, pickaxe tucked safely underneath me, and close my eyes.

It always takes me a while to get to sleep, so I usually mull over what's happened since I last slept.

I think we've had a very good first day. We found shelter, and some food. My allies have come to terms with their positions working for me, and they're both pretty good at skinning small animals. They're not bad cooks, either.

And, best of all, my sister hasn't found us.

Once again, it's not because I don't love her. Of course I do—we grew up together; we're _siblings_. I just... prefer to cherish her from a distance. A large distance.

Having nothing much more to think about, I settle down a bit more and clear my mind.

I'm about halfway asleep when I hear whispering.

I don't move or open my eyes, but I take more care to listen. I identify the voice as my dear Raivis's before I can start to make out the words.

"...have to get out of here...!"

"It's a suicide mission!" Eston adds something else, but I can't hear exactly what.

"But... I-I'm scared! I-I just want to l-leave... I r-really want to leave..."

"Don't try it," Eston warns in a low voice.

"N-No, I'm going to... I-I have to... P-Please come with me!" Raivis begs, his voice almost raising above a whisper.

Eston makes the slightest of shooshing noises and starts to reply with something else, but I can't make out any of the words.

"I-I'm sorry, Eston, b-but I'm going." I hear some panicked footsteps leading away from me.

"And vere exactly are you going?"

Raivis squeaks, stopping cold. He shakes horribly as I rise to my feet, pickaxe in hand.

"N-n-n-n-n-nowhere!" he whimpers, shuffling over to the tree's huge trunk and pressing himself back against it.

"Sat does not sound like vot you vere planning a moment ago."

"I-I-I-I-I-I was—I was k-kidding!" He gives a quick, weak, utterly unconvincing laugh.

I frown at him. He was adapting so well, too...

"Vell, since you didn't actually escape, I suppose I von't kill you..." He visibly relaxes, although he's still trembling a lot.

"But zis still calls for punishment."

Raivis goes pale again as I walk toward him slowly. I look him over for a moment, and then, shouldering my pickaxe, seize his left hand.

"Tell me, vich of your fingers do you like zeh least?"

His jaw drops. "Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-_what_?"

"Seemple qvestion. Vich is your least favourite finger?"

He glances over at my pickaxe, then stares horrified back at my face. "I-I-I-I like all of my f-f-f-fingers!"

"Really? I suppose I could choose for you..."

Raivis whimpers, shaking so much I'm almost afraid I'll lose my grip on him.

"That's enough...!"

I turn my head curiously to see Eston storming uncertainly towards us.

"Vut do you mean? I haevn't done anysing yet."

"J-Just stop it," Eston says, grabbing Raivis's wrist, although he doesn't try to wrench it away from me. "He's a nervous kid, all right? He'd probably try to run away from most people." He looks over at the trembling one. "But I don't think you're planning to run off anymore, are you?"

Raivis madly shakes his head "no".

"See? You... don't need to prove anything. It'd be worthless to punish him," Eston concludes, finally getting the nerve to pull Raivis's hand away from me.

I stare them both down for a moment, but decide I'd rather like to keep my workforce for now.

"All right," I concede with a shrug. "But if he tries it aygain—" I lean in close to Raivis, who shakes even more, if that's possible— "he _veel _lose somesing of his." I turn back toward Eston. "And zeh same wis you. Understood?"

"Understood," Eston breathes. Raivis, not seeming that able to talk at the moment, just nods, although the motion is almost lost in all of his trembling.

"Good." I pad back over to my sleeping place. "I'll see you two in zeh morning. And for your sakes, I hope it's no sooner."

I lie back down, contemplating what's just happened before I nod off.


	19. Under Cover of Night

Recommended Listening: Godzilla by Blue Oyster Cult

* * *

**Amer Jones, District 10**

I can't sleep.

Not just because it's a little cold, or because my mind won't settle down.

I can't sleep because I have no allies. I've been depressed about not being able to watch someone else's back—but I guess I need someone to watch mine, too.

While I don't know for sure if the Careers are out... I can't take chances. Between getting enough sleep but getting a knife wound and staying alert but getting drowsy, I prefer the second option.

Kind of funny. I think this is the first time I'll be staying up all night. I've had a few sleepovers—which is code for "get all the boys together, eat unearthly amounts of pizza, then say you're having 'a pillow fight' so you have an excuse to beat the crap out of everyone"—but I always fell asleep eventually.

I sure hope I'll be able to stay awake now...

It would help to have someone to carry on a conversation with. But the only things I've run into are rocks. I haven't seen so much as a rabbit to talk to.

...

I want to talk to a rabbit. Crap, I'm going crazy.

**China Wang, District 6**

Something jabs me in the side, hard. I get up, coughing.

"Wha...?"

"Your watch."

I clear my throat and sit up as Igris treads over a metre and lies down.

Kicking someone in the ribs isn't a very polite way to wake her up. But of course, a boy wouldn't know any better. Tch.

I rock my weight over to my feet and stand up.

The pale moonlight gives the prarie grass an eerie tint, and it colours my allies' faces a deathly pale.

I continue looking down at them for a minute. I don't think Igris has quite fallen asleep, but if I want to run off, the time'll come soon.

...Do I want to run off? While hanging around these guys is driving me crazy, they do have a weapon. And food. And, if that Kirkland kid is as rich as all the Hunger Games articles said—unlike some of the others, I did a little research on my opponents—the donations are going to keep coming. And, that Fronce guy isn't too bad a chef.

Speaking of which...

I look over my allies' faces one last time to make sure they're not cognizant, then walk lightly to our little supply pile. Among the dirtied plates and unopened boxes of food is a little plastic bowl with a parachute tied tightly over its top. Our leftovers.

I sneak another glance back at my allies, but neither has stirred. Turning back to the current subject, I carefully remove the makeshift lid. All that's revealed is half a bowlful of that blue sauce.

Nice to know he would rather save it for himself than give me more. Greedy pig.

Shuffling through the other boxes—while that sauce is good enough to make a stick off the ground taste good, I don't think that's the best chance to take—until I find a decent-sized loaf of bread. I tear a little off and start using it to mop up some of the sauce.

I feel the slightest bit guilty at eating their food before I remind myself it should have been mine in the first place.

Well, there you go, boys. Here's what you get.

**Ania Jerume, District 1**

The hunt doesn't seem to be going well tonight. The whole pack is together—we won't be repeating the mistakes from two years ago—so we'll easily defeat anyone we come across. We may be a little more detectable, but we've all trained. None of us is going to start a rousing battle cry to alert a tribute of our presence. Even my district partner is smarter than that.

I glance over at said district partner.

He's leading the group across the mountain, a quiet song on his lips along with his omnipresent smile.

Hm. It's not exactly a battle cry, but definitely not super stealth, either.

Rome continues to lead the way, sword in hand. Taberah and I follow right behind him, our weapons ready as well. Finni, weaponless and as far as I'm concerned useless, is next, and Sve brings up the rear.

My gaze keeps dragging back to Finni. Our weakling, 4-in-training cargo. We'd be better off without her. But, I guess it's only the first day. We can pick her and her boyfriend off later.

I look back ahead. I need to be focusing on the hunt. Scouring the bare mountainside only takes a few seconds, though, and I can't tell how far we are from the next crater. That's one of the advantages the last mountain-arena Careers had, stationing themselves at the summit. We prefer to keep closer to the Cornucopia.

I cast a subconscious glance back. It's not the smartest move to have our supplies unprotected, but... There's not much we can do. We're short three Careers. We have Sve and Finni, but I don't trust them with our Cornucopia goods. Waiting until now and making off with them could've been their plan in the first place. And, we don't know how well they really fight. It's just all we need to lose more Careers because we hop on a strong alliance and we don't have enough manpower.

No, leaving our supplies entirely is the best option. Not good, but the best.

The rocks underfoot make our footsteps clack, but it's soft enough not to alert the tributes that are supposedly near.

Honestly. The Gamemakers didn't do the best job of making a place suitable for us to hunt in. Just another twist, I guess.

"Whoah, crap. What was that?"

Rome and I turn to look at Taberah.

"What was what?"

"I heard—" She's cut off by a deep, shrieking roar. "...That."

On high alert, I tighten my grip on my sword and scan the mountainside swiftly. Nothing's visible in the murky, artificial moonlight but sharp rocks and sharp shadows.

And then it jumps out toward us.

I have to crane my neck up to see its green, scaly head, then crane it back down to make out its pointed toes. Its humongous tail swishes behind it threateningly, and it takes a few more thundering steps forward before flicking its golden, slit-eyed gaze down on us.

It pounces.

Since the lizard mutt's giant body blocks out the gleam of moonlight, I can't keep track of exactly what I'm slicing at. But I know it's tough, scaly skin, and I know I have to keep hacking away. The lizard lets out some more shrieks, although they sound progressively less aggressive.

Suddenly, the light returns, so I stop slashing my sword and survey the scene instead.

Rome has led the lizard away from the rest of us, and he now combats the bleeding mutt alone. He brings his sword around swiftly, digging the blade into the mutt's chest. The lizard screeches, swiping a massive arm at my district partner. With an exclamation, Rome jumps out of the way, tumbling a little too dramatically, and then snapping back to his feet. The lizard jumps onto him, and for a moment I think he's been crushed—but no cannon fires, and soon enough, I can see Rome struggling to lift up the lizard. I pad over.

"I've got this, Ania!" Rome warns through gritted teeth.

I stop in my tracks, raising an eyebrow.

But soon enough, Rome has come upon the strength to heave the monster upward a bit. He readies his sword, and in a millisecond, thrusts it up through the lizard's chest. The thing gives another unearthly shriek before my district partner retrieves his weapon, sending the blood-covered mutt stumbling. The lizard trips over its own feet, and then crashes onto the rocks.

Panting, Rome walks over to the thing and prods it to make sure it's dead.

"Ha _ha_!" he bellows triumphantly. He puts one foot on the dead mutt and poses dramatically. "Having vanquished the dreaded beast, I, the great and powerful Rome—"

"Rome," I interrupt sternly.

"Oh, come on. I'm just relishing the moment." He clears his throat. "I, the great and powerful Ro—ow-ow-ow-ow!" He cuts off into childlike cries of pain as I grab him and drag him away.

"Oh, come on, Ania!"

"Rome, you're being an idiot."

"I'm just having fu-_ow_! Why by my ear?"


	20. Oops

Author's Note: So, I think I am going to do a reviewer awards thing. Here are the rules:

1. We have to get to _150 reviews._ Can you handle that?

2. I'll be rewarding the _top two places _with free story requests.

3. The rankings include ties, so I'll probably actually hand out more than two.

That sound good to you all?

Recommended Listening: Head Games by Foreigner

* * *

**Fronce Foybon, District 6**

"_We're all going to die!_"

I set down the berry I was picking with a sigh. "We are _not _going to die," I inform Igris yet again. He still doesn't seem convinced.

"What's going on now?" comes a grumble. Looks like Igris's shouting has woken up China.

Igris points an accusatory finger at me. "He's poisoned us all!"

"What...?" comes the drowsy reply as China sits up.

"Just ignore him; he's spouting nonsense," I sigh.

"Nonsense? _Nonsense? _This is not nonsense! If those are the same berries you put in the sauce last night...!"

"What berries?" China responds, looking around for the insinuator of this whole mess.

"These," I say, pointing to the meager pile of berries I've picked since the recent sunrise.

"Yes!" Igris responds. "The _poisonous _ones right there!"

I sigh. "Igris, they're not—"

"Yes, they are! I can guarantee I saw those in the Training Center, and _they are poisonous_!"

"Wait, what?" China responds, a bit more awake.

"I know what berries they are, Igris. And, unlike you, I know the proper way to use my ingredients."

Igris splutters. "When have I ever used ingredients incorrectly?"

I look at him blankly. "How about the time you substituted motor oil for olive oil?"

"I was out!"

"Why do you even act like that's an excuse?" I say in disbelief.

"Well—you're leading us off-subject!" he decides.

"I think it was actually your fault."

"I—"

"_But_," I interrupt, "I believe I was trying to explain why we're not poisoned. These berries—" I pick up my little stash—"can hardly be called poisonous in small amounts. With the diluted sauce I used, you'd have to get a good couple more spoonfuls than I dished out to just get sick. You'd probably have to down the whole rest of the bowl to actually die from it."

"Say what?" China deadpans, suddenly seeming a bit pale.

"There's nothing to worry about," I repeat. "I didn't give anyone a lethal amount. Especially you. Since you're a girl, you probably weigh less than us, and I wasn't completely sure how much your system could handle. So I gave you less. You'll be fine; don't worry about it."

China laughs weakly. "I... wouldn't be so sure about that..."

"What do you mean?" I respond slowly.

More nervous laughter. "On my watch last night, I... kind of... had a midnight snack..."

It takes a moment for her words to sink in. "You... You didn't—!" I scramble over to our supplies and find the bowl, which looks untouched. The cover comes off rather easily, though, and when I look down... The inside of the bowl is licked completely clean.

"...I thought I felt a little queasy last night, but I blamed it on nervousness from being in the Games..." She finishes with another laugh, a little more high-pitched this time.

I look back at the empty bowl with disbelief once more before setting it down.

**Eston von Bock, District 7**

Looks like another day of slave labour for Raivis and me.

The tree our alliance is settled in has its share of wildlife. If it's within Vahn's—and his pickaxe's—range, we don't have to worry about actually killing anything. Although the tree is so tall most of its branches are actually out of range, a few straggling wooden arms reach low enough for Vahn to get to.

For breakfast today, we have a squirrel and two bright yellow birds. In most alliances, you would assume that means we get one each, but if yesterday's trends continue, the total's going to be split in favour of our captor.

But, no matter how much we actually end up getting, Raivis and I are the only ones preparing the meat. Even better, we still don't have anything to skin them with other than our fingers and sharp rocks.

Either way, we get at it. Who knows if we would find food at all on our own, anyway, right?

Okay, that's a pretty bad excuse. We just kind of don't have a choice.

I'm about halfway done with the squirrel when my ally yelps.

I snap my gaze up. "What happened?"

"O-Oh, nothing," he stutters, rubbing his right index finger with his other hand. "Just... nicked my finger."

"Ah, okay." I go back to my work, but in a few seconds I notice Raivis hasn't done the same. "Are you sure that's it?"

"Y-Yeah..." He looks down at the little smear of blood and sighs shakily.

"You still kind of shaken up from last night?" I suggest sympathetically.

He nods, looking at me with the kind of puppy dog eyes that could sway President Snow. "I-I'm scared, Eston," he says softly. "Do you—do you really think he'll... ch-chop off my f-fingers?"

I look down. "I don't know" is all I can truthfully say.

Raivis makes a small whining sound, rubbing his hands together like he's paranoid of losing them. "What if—wh-what if he ch-chops them a-all off?" he whimpers.

"He won't do that," I assure him. "He's only keeping us around to do the dull work for him, so you'd be useless without fingers."

Instead of comforting him, this suddenly sends him into more of a frenzy.

"H-He's going t-to chop them all off, and th-then I'll b-be useless, and h-he'll k-kill me!" he squeaks.

"No, no, that won't happen!" I reply, reaching over and grabbing Raivis by his shaking shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. "The only reason he's threatening to chop off your fingers is so you won't run away. And he said if we didn't stay with him, he'd kill us. So he's doing this in order to _not _have to kill you."

"O-Okay..." Raivis looks down at his hands. "B-But he'll try to kill us sometime," he whispers.

"It's only the second day. Don't worry about it," I say, removing my hands and re-seizing the squirrel.

...Honestly, I'm a bit unnerved myself, now. We might be all right on food and protection, but... It'll only last so long. When the time comes for Vahn to turn on us...

I'm not sure what we'll do.

**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

The Cornucopia's not a bad mattress. Granted, I have to curl up pretty tight to fit in the tip of the horn, and the only blanket I have is a few packets of slings and things stacked up to obscure me from view, but... Not too shabby.

Heh. Before yesterday, I never would have thought I'd be hiding out here. But with so few Careers left after the bloodbath, I knew this thing would be unguarded when they went out to hunt. I wasn't expecting the 11's to ally with them, but it all worked out in the end, anyway.

So, while I'd rather not risk the noisiness of having breakfast, I didn't have too bad a feast last night. There were a lot of fruits, so my backpack has a few extra apple cores and banana peels in it. Wouldn't want to leave those lying around where the Careers could see them.

I wonder just how long I could stay in here. For the time being, until they need some slings and wrist braces. But I could rearrange the supplies back here every night, pulling the least-needed items close... As long as I stay silent, I'd be hard to find.

Oh, I'll probably leave when the Careers go hunting next. I shouldn't press my luck.

Although I guarantee this horn's going to be a lot emptier when I go.


	21. Determination

Author's Note: CREEPERS. Creepercreepercreepers. *clears throat* It's hard to write for some of these guys.

Recommended Listening: Obsession by Animotion

* * *

**Sve Oxenstierna, District 11**

No matter how clear I make it that Finni is safe here, she won't be convinced. I protected her from that District 4 monster. We all protected her from that muttation last night. I held her close in the semi-darkness after the hunt so any attacker would have to go through me first. I made sure she got her proper rations this morning, despite Ania opposing me.

But nothing seems to work. She's smiling a bit more, and acting more casual, but it's so obviously faked. I don't know what she wants from me. I would ask, but... I don't know. I can't help but get the horrid feeling she just wants to be left alone for a while, and... I can't do that. If I leave her alone out here, she could die.

And... It may sound crazy to say this, but I really don't think I _could _leave her alone. She... She's just... _mine_. I can't explain it. I can barely survive without her at home. I would go mad without her here.

She doesn't seem to think quite the same way, though. I know she's in love with me, deep down, somewhere... But she's not as desperate for my affection as I am hers. Is it her? Is it me? If I just knew what she wanted, I would change in a heartbeat. Above all else, I want her, but I still want her to be comfortable and happy... It'll be hard for me at the end of the Games to kill myself for her, but I know I have to do it if she's to go on living.

And, with the thought of my life without her... I feel my sword could go through me much more easily.

I look back over at the girl in my arms. She shifts position the slightest bit, as if she can feel my gaze.

I just don't understand it. What does she have to fear from me? I get strange looks back home because of my height—now obscured since we're both seated on the grass—and my skin colour—which certainly can't affect her since hers is the same. I don't know what on earth else is wrong with me.

Just ask. Why can't I ask? She reacts so fearfully when I speak, I'm practically frightened to ask her anything. But refraining to talk doesn't help, either—just my eyes meeting hers is enough to make her nervous. It's as if the only way to comfort her is to leave her alone entirely, but that's completely impossible. There must be another way.

Yes, of course there's another way. I just have to figure it out.

And then we can be in bliss together.

**Natalya Larus, District 9**

It's a new day. The mountainside is bright, birds in the distance are chirping, and—somewhere—my brother waits for me.

And today I will find him. I have wasted away enough of my precious time sleeping; I'm finally rested enough to continue my mission.

I don't know where Vahn is hiding out. It's probably a better shelter than the cramped, sorry excuse for a grotto I've been resting in.

But wherever it is, I will find it. I searched unceasingly yesterday, not stopping for a single morsel. I need no food. My only hunger is for Vahn. Any emptiness inside me is only due to the lack of his presence.

I plan on solving that soon enough. I'm still a bit tired, but that's hardly an excuse. All that stands between me and my brother is a few measly rocks.

I quite like this arena, to tell the truth. It's just perfect, so much like the one two years ago...

The reconstruction of this mountain is a sign of my and my brother's destiny. In those Games, I remember, two tributes held their own marriage. So, being here, in such a similar place, with just as undying a love... It's as if Fate herself has decided Vahn and I are to be wed here.

I hold no objection. Our marriage is something I've fantasised over for years. While most of the whistles and bells I've imagined up are going to have to be absent—we're still in the Hunger Games, after all—it will be a perfect wedding nonetheless. Anything with the union of me and my brother is perfect.

I do admit that I wasn't expecting to have our wedding so early. I thought that, once he finally admitted he was madly in love with me as I was him, we would spend a little time with dates and romance before trotting to the aisle.

I still don't know why Vahn hasn't confessed his love for me. I know it's there. If he would just openly reciprocate, things would be so much easier.

But he won't. So there's a bit of a struggle on my part. Honestly, I'm getting impatient. I've spent years already trying to convince him to reveal our mutual love, and I'm a bit tired of waiting.

But I know it's worth the wait. With my brother, my wonderful, sexy brother, as the prize, no amount of time will wear down my will to finish the quest for his heart.

The journey still isn't finished. But I know I'm close.

I just have to find him.

**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

"I'm hungry."

Spain, apparently not knowing I was awake until just now, jumps a bit and looks up from whatever he was doing.

"Um, good morning," he says, putting one hand in the greenish khaki bag I can make out on his lap. "Someone sent us supplies, so I'll, uh, see if there's any food in here."

"Hope there is." Stretching, I stand up and walk over to peek over his shoulder. He shuffles his hand through the bag before pulling out something crinkly. He has to flip the bag over a few times before he can find the label.

"Looks like we have some beef jerky," he announces.

"Sweet! Give it." I grab at the edge of the bag.

"Hang on! I have to open it first." With some difficulty, he pulls it out of my grasp, and then starts to rip the thing open. "Now, we should save most of it for later, so..." He pulls out two of the two-centimetre-wide strips.

"Just two each?" I moan.

"Each?" he responds, sounding surprised. "Well, it's only breakfast, so I was thinking more like two between the both of us."

"That's not going to work," I deadpan, snatching the bag out of his hands before he can do anything about it.

"Hey!" he splutters as I shove my hand into the bag. "Don't do that!" He jumps forward, letting the canvas bag slide off onto the ground as he dedicates both of his hands to getting the jerky back from me. A lot stronger than I thought, he manages to rip it out of my hands before I've gotten more than one piece of jerky out of it.

"There," he sighs, putting one of the pieces he had gotten earlier back in, sticking the other in his mouth, and rolling the plastic up. "We have to conserve our supplies, okay? We don't know how long we'll be out here."

"But I'm hungry," I grumble, nibbling on the jerky to try and make it last a little longer.

"Well... Wait for lunch." Spain steps back to the canvas bag and the somewhat-rotten-looking stump he had been sitting on. He picks up the bag and opens the flap on it again.

"What else is in there?"

"Not much," he replies. "Just a little roll of gauze, and... some cheese."

I perk up. "What kind?"

"Uh... Swiss, I think. Do you want a little?"

"Yech. No, thanks."

"Didn't you just say you were hungry...?"

"Not _that _hungry."

Spain looks at me funny for a second, and then shrugs.

"All right, then."


	22. Move Along

Recommended Listening: In a Big Country by Big Country

* * *

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

As I keep walking, the rocks gradually start to slope under my feet, and I have to go back to climbing. In a few seconds, Fronce must have done the same—I didn't check, but considering I don't hear him tumbling down the side of the mountain, he must have adjusted.

Really, I don't hear much of anything. It's a bit unnerving, since he's usually quite busy jabbering at me with inane insults. But, he's basically just killed a person. It's excusable to not feel like talking right now.

But, eventually, he does open his mouth.

"I still don't feel right about this."

"About what?" I respond, pausing in my climbing to find a better handhold.

"What do you think?" he responds. "About just leaving her behind!"

"Well, you're not going to be much help to her."

"I know, but..." He sighs. "I... I feel like it would be better to stay with her, so she's not... alone in her last moments."

"She wouldn't like _that_," I respond, barely able to keep my words away from scoffing laughter. "She'll blame you for it, you know. You staying around wouldn't comfort her at all. She'd probably try to throw things at you or something."

"Yeah..." he says, not sounding convinced. "I don't know. It's just... She's my district partner. I feel like I should do _something_!"

"I don't care if she's your twin sister—she's still going to die."

He goes silent, and I continue to lead the way around the mountain.

A sickly trace of guilt starts to creep up my throat, and I consider apologising, although neither of us has ever apologised to the other for any reason before.

"Hey... Fronce...?"

He still doesn't respond, so I stop climbing and look back. I can't make him out at first, so I think I've been going too fast for him.

But then I see him going the wrong way.

"Hey!" I clamber back over a couple of rocks in pursuit. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Back!" he calls.

"Wha—! I thought we agreed to leave!" I shout, hurrying up after him.

"I just thought of something!" he pants, hands fumbling over the mountainside for something to grip. "What about the sponsors?"

"What _about _them?"

"They could donate an antidote, couldn't they? And if I show I'm willing to let China use some of my funds...!"

I stop climbing after him. "Fronce, you're just being stupid now."

"How's that?" he responds, irritated.

"We hung around plenty long enough to show that, don't you think? The antidote must be too expensive."

"Too expensive?" He laughs the slightest bit. "What about _your_ sponsors? They could afford pretty much anything, don't you think?" He nods a bit at the conglomeration of our supplies tied to my back.

"Yes, obviously. And if _they _were going to send something, don't you think they would have sent it by now?"

Fronce stops climbing back toward the prarie and looks back toward me, horrified.

"There's no help for her, Fronce," I conclude. "Now if you want to go back so she can attack you while she continues to vomit her brains out and fall apart from the poison, be my bloody guest. I, for one, am not going to stick around for that."

Fronce looks down, between his hands. "I just feel horrible about this. Leaving her behind just because..."

"Because she's dying?" I finish for him.

He leans forward and puts his forehead against the mountainside for a moment. "Igris... What if it was me?" He pulls back and looks me in the eye. "If I were dying, would you leave _me _behind?"

I meet his gaze evenly. "Well, if you brought it on by doing something _that _stupid, I might have to stick around and taunt you a little bit."

His jaw drops. "You can't be serious...!"

I shake my head in disbelief of him. "Just decide that for yourself, why don't you, smart one?" I scoff, turning back to the mountainside. "Now, come on. Let's find some shelter already."

It takes a minute, but he follows.

**Sadik Ottoman, District 8**

I'm not the only one in this crater. I admit, I wasn't paying much attention to where I was going yesterday—anywhere without a crossbow-toting psychopath was pretty much all I wanted.

And, I guess I got that. I just sped toward the nearest mini-environment—some sort of jungle, with trees and large flowers and vines all over the place—and got a few metres in without looking back. I'm pretty sure Vash didn't come after me, considering I don't have an arrow through my head.

But I don't have any food, either. I found a little bit of water this morning, since the trees' huge leaves accumulate a lot of dew, but it's done nothing for my appetite.

I bet there's plenty to eat here, but... I didn't exactly spend a lot of time at the edible plants station back in the Training Center. And I'm sure there's plenty of poison in this place. My knife certainly hasn't gotten any bigger, so it's pretty well useless against animals larger than my hand. And who knows what kind of creatures have been loosed in this place?

So once again, the only other option is my sponsors. But even that's a pretty stale bet right now. I still haven't done anything. And I'm not sure exactly what I can do. If I can't go after animals with this knife, how am I supposed to go after humans? Find a younger one and hope I scare them?

And then what? I won't get sponsor money if I just scare someone. I'd have to kill them.

...

I know I can't do that. But how am I going to survive the Hunger Games if I don't kill anyone? I'm not dumb enough to think I could get away with something like that.

So I have to condemn myself to death—and right now, it seems like it'll be from starving—if I want to be a decent human being.

Snapping myself out of my thoughts, a cannon fires.

Someone else is dead, huh?

...What? That's all the reaction I can muster? Someone's been murdered, who knows how close by, who knows how brutally, and all I can say is "someone else is dead"?

But, logically, what else could I do? I don't know who died. I don't _know_ who died, unless it was my districtmate, so it's not like I could hold a funeral in my brain for them. It's just like some stranger on the other side of the district died. I can't do anything, so it's just somebody else's problem.

So, I just have to manage my own business. Which, right now, concerns me pleasing the sponsors.

However I'm going to do that.

"...Wait for lunch."

I perk up.

"What else is in there?"

Other people are here. And they sound close.

"Not much. Just a little roll of gauze, and... some cheese."

I finger my knife nervously. I could try to run, but that probably wouldn't help—I may even throw myself back into the path of that crossbow-user. Besides, the Capitol is probably craving interaction of some kind.

"What kind?"

...Well... If the Capitol wants it...

"Uh... Swiss, I think. Do you want a little?"

I slink over a few trees.

"Yech. No, thanks."

...I may as well give the money-holders a little of what they want.

"Didn't you just say you were hungry...?"

I step closer, heart pounding, and two tributes come into view behind a few more trees and vines.

"Not _that _hungry."

I stop. I'm not sure how this is going to go down. I might end up having to kill someone if I'm not careful.

"All right, then."

But they're too close. It's too late. Whatever's going to happen between us is going to happen.

I surge toward them.


	23. Hostage Situation

Recommended Listening: Won't Get Fooled Again by The Who

* * *

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

I'm completely unprepared when the Eight dashes out of the foliage.

It takes a second for the fact that _someone else is here _to click in my head, but once it does, I scramble to find my hammer. By the time I've pulled it out of the impression it made in the mud, something must have happened.

Because Lovi screams.

Gripping the hammer and more ready than I'd like to use it, I turn back toward where I know she must be standing.

She's struggling in vain to escape the Eight's grasp, even though only one arm is wrapped around her. The other is busy nudging back her head and holding a tiny pocketknife to her throat.

"Let me go, you stupid bas—"

"Quiet!" snaps the Eight, gripping his weapon shakily.

I grasp my own weapon uncertainly. I could try attacking with it, but 1. one wrong move on my part, and he'll slit her throat, and 2. if he was just going to up and kill her, he would have done it already.

So... what's he after? What is he trying to do?

Only one real way to find out.

"What do you want?" I say, trying to keep all traces of panic from my voice. The result is a gravelly and unemotional tone that could very well belong to a killer. It scares me a little, but I try to keep focused.

The Eight looks up—it's kind of hard to tell since his mask obscures his eyes a bit—but doesn't say anything.

"I said, what do you want?" I shout, unable to keep from sounding a little scared.

...I guess it's kind of odd that I'm scared, from a Hunger Games standpoint. No matter what this guy does, I'm bigger, I'm older, I'm probably stronger, and I have a much better weapon than him. But he doesn't seem all that scared of me, and he's threatening to kill my ally.

All right, she's really more of a dependant than an ally. But... Dang it, I'm not going to let her die! If this Eight hurts her, I'll—I'll freaking _kill him_—!

Whoa. Hang on. Calm down, there. He hasn't done anything...

Was I really just thinking I would kill him?

"...What's in the bag?"

I'm so tangled in my thoughts I don't quite hear what he says.

"What?"

"What's in the bag?" the Eight repeats, nodding at the canvas slung over my shoulder.

"Oh! Um..." I shuffle a hand through the thing nervously, even though I already know the contents. "A little bit of gauze. And some food."

"Give it," my adversary responds immediately.

I look down into the bag. Aside from the hammer, this is all we have. But...

"If I give it to you, you'll let her go?" I seek to confirm. He nods.

My hand shuffles a bit through the supplies. Y'know, the lump of cheese is pretty small...

I wrap my hand around it to check, but it doesn't quite cover it all up. The Eight would catch me if I tried to sneak it out.

"...Okay." I take my hand out, set the hammer down in peace, and approach the Eight slowly. He watches expectantly, not moving. I set the bag at his feet. He nudges it with his shoe, as if to make sure it's not just empty. Then, he quickly releases Lovi, snatches the bag, and sprints off without another word.

I vaguely entertain the concept of going after him, but he disappears as I put my hands on the shaking Lovi's arms.

"Are you okay?"

She looks at me for a second, and then stares at my hands. I relinquish my grip with a quiet apology.

"But really, are you okay? He didn't do anything else to you?"

She looks me in the eye, takes a deep breath, and says:

"What was _that_, you jerk?"

I draw back. "What?"

Lovi continues to fume. "You lost all of our food! All of it! Now we're going to starve to death! _Starve_!"

"Lovi, Lovi, calm down!" I start to put a hand on her to quiet her, but decide that would probably just make her angrier. "We're not going to starve! There's other food around here!"

"I _knew _I should've eaten more of that jerky!"

"Hey, come on, Lovi. I just saved your _life_, in case you hadn't noticed! Can't you be grateful for once and not just yell at me for things?"

Lovi still growls. "You handed away _all of our __food_! I would've rather gotten a knife through my neck than _starve_!"

"We are _not _going to starve!" I reiterate, although I'm sure I'm fighting a losing battle. Lovi's still pouting, completely unconvinced that I haven't just sentenced us to death. I'm not going to convince her.

"All right, look," I say, rubbing my hands together. I don't know exactly what I'm trying to communicate, so I stop there until I remember one of my weird family things. "Okay, guess what?" I start over. I don't wait for her to respond with something concerning our lack of food. "I have some magic words that can make you feel better!"

"Unless those words are 'beef' and 'jerky', I'm not interested," Lovi huffs immediately.

"I give up," I deadpan, turning around to pick up the hammer. "Let's just see if we can hunt down a rabbit or something."

**Vash Zerlan, District 2**

I really like this place. I got a whole night's sleep—without terrible aches from training—I haven't been visited since that mask guy, and it's stayed nice and quiet.

Until now. She's nowhere close—if she were, I would've shot her by now—but some idiot is complaining _at the top of her lungs _and it's driving me mad.

I figure she's probably the next crater over, though, and I'm still only just on the edge of the pine forest. Maybe if I go in deeper, her voice will fade.

So, I pick up my crossbow and venture into the trees.

The noise level doesn't decrease all that much at first, but once the trees get thicker and the lighting gets dimmer, there's a significant cut-off. Also, as I progress, I notice the ground becomes sprinkled with a few pinecones. Now that I think about it, there weren't any back at the edge. Guess it's just because the trees don't grow as thickly out there.

I continue into the pines, and in a minute or so, I can no longer hear the girl's screeching.

Ah. Finally. It might not be 100% as warm this deep into the forest, but anything's better than that noise.

I sweep the area to make sure I have no company, and then settle down against one of the dark, slightly sticky trunks.

Relishing the silence, I just sit for a while.

Of course, there's only so much relishing one can do, so I start to get a bit bored after a while. Finding one of the pinecones next to me, I pick it up gently, and, weighing it—it's a bit heavier than I expected—chuck it at a tree a good ten metres away.

And it promptly explodes.

To my shock, the pressure wave knocks me back a good half metre or so without detonating any of the other seed-filled grenades. I push myself back up to a seating position, coughing a bit, and then I freeze.

I'm practically surrounded by pinecones.

I have no idea what actually detonates them other than throwing them against trees, so I don't move.

But I'll have to eventually. The foliage here is too thick to get any donations floating down, and something to eat isn't likely to just jump into my lap.

I risk standing slowly. Nothing happens. Holding my crossbow between my knees, I take off my jacket and tie one sleeve securely to a bolt. Loading the bolt and wrapping my hand securely to the other sleeve, I pray that shooting the crossbow upward to get myself into the safety of the boughs I can't reach won't detonate the surrounding pinecones.

I fire.

And my prayer is not granted.

Crap. I really liked this place.


	24. Fear

Recommended Listening: Renegade by Styx

* * *

**Amer Jones, District 10**

I think I'm slowly becoming nocturnal.

While I did manage to keep myself awake last night, it was a bit after sunrise when I up and blacked out. Apparently, I just don't cope well with lack of sleep.

I only woke up a few minutes ago, and the sun's already hovering on the other horizon. I must have been zonked out all day.

But, that doesn't keep me from being hungry. I got some food sent from sponsors yesterday, but... I kinda already ate it all...

Well, what would you expect me to do? It was just two sandwiches.

I crane my neck to check the sky, but nothing floats down, and I get the feeling that's not gonna change any time soon.

Seeing as there's not really anything to eat on the mountainside—I feel like there were scraggly trees and things the last time the arena was a mountain, but there definitely aren't this time—I'm still navigating around.

I reach the top of the mountain by nightfall. There's nothing to sustain me, but maybe I can see the other environments a little better from here.

The anthem blares, and I look up.

Only two people's chances were blown today: Vash from 2, and China from 6.

I leave it at that and start searching. I can't get caught up in this stuff, or I'll drive myself crazy. As if the isolation's not enough. I've already caught myself telling off a rock for tripping me.

...I _really _need to find someone to talk to...

**Eston von Bock, District 7**

I'm woken up in the middle of the night. It's not for my watch; I feel like I just nodded off from my last one, but the more obvious reason: I'm woken up by voices. More specifically, a very sharp cry of "Don't!".

It's followed by Vahn saying, "I already gave you vun chance."

Raivis tries to say something back, but ends up stuttering so badly he can't get anything out.

What are these guys doing up this late, anyway? Vahn wanted his sleep, and...

Wait.

The snippet of conversation bounces around my head for another minute before I suddenly realise what's happening. Stomach squirming with the onslaught of dread, I hurriedly push myself to my feet.

"What's going on?" I call quickly as I can, to buy time if need be.

Vahn pauses and looks back at me, one hand around his pickaxe, the other cementing Raivis's left hand to the giant tree trunk.

"Zis one tried to run avay aygain," he replies, pointing at Raivis with his pickaxe as if the subject wasn't clear.

Again? After the fright last time, I never would have thought he'd try to escape... Although he has been scared out of his mind all day, and you'd think Vahn would be fast asleep by this time.

_Does _the guy ever sleep? I'm starting to think he might not.

"So," continues Vahn, "I am going to carry out hees punishment."

Raivis chooses now to look over at me—he's so utterly terrified I'd have to be heartless to not help him.

But what am I supposed to say? I obviously can't appeal to Vahn's human side; if he had one, he wouldn't dream of carrying out this sentence. I guess I'll have to go with logic again.

"He won't be able to work as efficiently if you do that, you know," I start, words coming out quickly. "Not only would he be missing a finger, he'd be in too much pain to work all that much."

Vahn watches as I approach. "But I _do_ haev two of you," he replies.

"That's true, but..." I stall. It's hard to do this when I have no idea what he really wants from us. It's obviously more than just slave labour. "But even if you do have to do it—" I flinch as my words make Raivis pale—"you should wait."

"And vy is sat?"

"Just think about it," I respond, unable to come up with any arguments that could actually stop this, only ones to buy time. "It's night, and the Careers are probably out hunting now. If you... punish him, the pain would make him scream—and it'd bring all of the Careers running straight for us!"

Considering this for a moment, Vahn spins the pickaxe around in his hand. The onslaught of silence is stifling, and I find myself scraping my foot on a root beneath to make it stop. Though I doubt it really is, it seems like a whole minute before Vahn responds.

"I cane handle a few Careers."

Horror pricking down my spine, I open my mouth to argue otherwise.

But before I can get a word out, the pickaxe tears sickeningly through Raivis's hand and thumps into the tree behind.

And then come the screams.

I can only look on in disbelief as Vahn pulls his weapon back and releases Raivis, still shaking, still shrieking, to contemplate the sickening and blood-slicked edge of a hand where a pinky once was. It takes me a minute to thaw from the shock and rush over to help somehow. Raivis has fallen back against the tree and slid down into a quivering seated position, so I seat myself next to him.

It takes all the humanity I have to remain convinced I should stay here. Between the screaming he's unable to stop and the gruesome mess the side of his hand's been turned into—complete with an awful-looking piece of bone jutting from the torn tissue—it's beyond tempting to leave.

But I won't. We're allies. And if that kind of thing happened to me, I sure wouldn't want to be deserted.

So I stay.

**Sadik Ottoman, District 8**

I couldn't do it. Everything was set up perfectly—one flick of the wrist, and I would have a whole lot more approval from the Capitol.

I wonder exactly what they think of me now. It's unbelievably lucky for me they had that food, since 1. I now have food and 2. I didn't have to stand there like an idiot and make it painstakingly obvious to everyone that I'm not actually planning to murder.

What _would _I have done, if they didn't have anything for a ransom? Just run off? Try to feign some illness so I have more of an excuse? Realise either of those options would get me even less favour with the Capitol and resort to what they want me to do? There's no way I would stoop to that... I hope...

But, it doesn't really matter what could have happened, right? The only important thing is, right now, I finally have something to eat, and, thanks to a parachute, something to drink.

So the Capitol doesn't know it was all a fluke. Thought it was some genius plan on my part to score what I needed.

Hey, if it works, it works. Won't say I'm not grateful.

**Finni Vaina, District 11**

This is the third unsuccessful hunt the Careers have been on.

Well, I may be a little early in labelling it "unsuccessful", but it's definitely not looking good so far. Not that I'm complaining. Just thinking about having to watch another tribute die in front of me is enough to make me squirm.

But I'd still be uncomfortable if we weren't hunting. I'm still surrounded by Careers one way or the other, and I'm really not convinced they're on my side.

I-I just want to leave. The lack of success hunting is showing in the Careers' attitudes, and Ania never liked me in the first place, and... I _really _don't want to stay around Sve. I know he promised to keep me alive, and I know I don't have the best chances of doing that on my own, but... He just... I'm just terrified of him! I-I just want him to leave me alone. That's all I ever wanted from him back home. But he's just too... obsessed with me. I know he's not going to back down willingly.

So, should I run away? _Could _I run away? Sve always keeps a close eye on me—I even caught him staring at me the second I woke up, and I have a feeling he'd been looking on much longer. There's no way I could sneak out. I'd have to punch him or something just to make a run for it.

And I wouldn't do that. It's too... wicked. And I always try to be polite—it's the only reason I haven't already told Sve I'm really not interested.

So, I'm just... Stuck.

And I get the idea I'll be that way for a long time yet.


	25. Rescue Mission

Recommended Listening: Roll On Down the Highway by Bachman-Turner Overdrive

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**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

I like the Career pack this year.

Not for what they do, obviously, but for how convenient they are. Not only is the pack small enough they don't get to guard their supplies, they also argue and yap about the next hunt so much I'm warned far in advance of their leaving.

So, when they decided to hunt in the afternoon due to their apparent failure the night before, I snuck out.

Having restocked—I also commend the pack's rationing skills, leaving plenty of food and water for me to take—I think this stash'll keep me for a good five days. I could've gotten more, but I think four backpacks of supplies might drag me down a bit. Just a hunch.

It's nighttime now, but I don't let myself fall asleep. The easiest way to do this is with a little sugar—someone thought to put some hard candies in one of the backpacks, and I may as well take advantage of it. Of course, napping on and off half the day doesn't hurt staying awake now, either.

So, everything just works together. Kind of nice, isn't it?

**Amer Jones, District 10**

While I've been in danger of falling asleep since... Well, since I woke up, the screaming pretty well snapped me back awake.

I've been climbing back down the mountain, so when whatever happened happened, it was practically right next to me. I was still above, though, and could figure out the noise came from the crater with the humongous tree. I figured this was useless information, but a few minutes passed, and no cannon. Whoever had made that noise was still alive.

Whoever made that noise _needed my help_.

So I kept progressing downward, and then I hung out at the edge of the crater until I kinda pieced together what had happened. The big guy, from 9, is trying to get to sleep, a bloodstained pickaxe held protectively to his chest. The boy from 12 took some sort of damage to his hand—I don't know what it is, since it's wrapped up in a torn piece of T-shirt—and I'm guessing it's the 9's fault, considering the pickaxe. And then there's the boy from 7, trying to comfort the 12 while zipping up his jumper to cover up the jagged end of his shirt.

Hey... The 7 and the 12 are allies, right? Come to think of it, they're the allies that up and rejected me as a friend. But it was because they didn't want more people. So why would they end up allied with the 9?

I don't know, but it looks like it didn't turn out well.

Screw grudges—I can help. I can get them out of there. But... What am I going to do about the 9? I don't think he's actually going to fall fast enough asleep soon, and I don't really want to confront him. He kinda has a _huge freaking pickaxe_, and I don't have any sort of weapon. I don't think I could sneak up on him and knock him out with a punch. Forget sneaking up on him—I'm not even completely sure I could deal him a knockout punch. Yeah, Training Centre training, but... I don't know how strong I really am.

And this isn't the sort of thing to take chances on. I need to get those guys away from him.

So, what? I just wait? Hope I show up in the right part of his sleep cycle? How's that gonna work out?

I barely notice the silver gleam from the parachute that lands next to me.

Putting my hand over the thing, I pick away the cloth to reveal a full, kinda big hypodermic needle. I pick it up carefully, balancing it in my hands.

Well, I'm not sick, and I don't think this is food or water. I wonder if my mentor is on the same wavelength as me...

I peek back over the crater's little wall, where the 9 is still shuffling his limbs around uncomfortably, but with his eyes tightly closed.

Well. I think I've got the "knocking him out" part covered.

Let's see how that "sneaking up on him" part works out.

**Raivis Lithu, District 12**

I'm almost too busy fretting about my pinky finger—or lack thereof—to notice the tribute sneaking over the crater wall.

But I do notice. I can't quite tell who it is in the moonlight, but...

W-Wait! Didn't Eston say that-that my screaming could attract C-Careers?

It's all I can do to stifle the newest wave of terror with whimpers instead of screams.

"It's okay, Raivis," Eston whispers suddenly, making me jump.

"H-H-How...?" I whisper back.

"Not a Career," he says quickly, reassuringly.

Skeptically, I look back over at the tribute, and I soon place him as Amer from 10.

B-But wasn't that the guy we wouldn't let into our alliance? What if-What if he has a grudge? What if he's just g-going to-to kill us after all?

"Calm down." I still can't help but give a bit of a start when Eston whispers in my ear again.

"H-H-H-How could I c-c-c-c-calm d-d-d-d-d-down?" I whisper back, still barely able to talk. "H-H-H-H-H-He—"

"Just watch."

I go ahead and follow his instructions, although it's hard to keep paying attention when my hand is still hurting.

Okay, "hurting" is a serious understatement. Even though it's not as bad as it was when the pickaxe first...

Oh, I-I don't want to think about it. I really don't. Imagining it happening again just makes it hurt worse.

So I focus back on Amer. He's slid off the crater wall—the borders on this mountain are a lot thicker than the ones two years ago—and is creeping toward Vahn, still a good two meters away.

Vahn suddenly flips over, making me squeak, but doesn't get up.

But he'll notice Amer's footsteps, just like he noticed mine. Th-there's no way this'll work... Should I warn Amer now?

I-I'm too terrified to. What if it works, and he gets away? Would Vahn be m-mad at me? I-I-I r-r-r-really don't want th-th-th-that!

There's a hand on my shoulder, and I squeak again.

"Calm down," Eston urges again, squeezing my shoulder. I realise I've started shaking again.

Well... I don't think I ever stopped, actually... But I'm pretty sure I must have started trembling harder.

"Vut do you sink you're doing?"

I yelp, pushing myself back against the tree trunk even though I know deep down that Vahn's not addressing me.

"Uh, what'd you just say?" Amer responds, quickly hiding the needle behind his back and disguising the movement by shifting into an odd fighting stance.

"I asked you vut you sink you're doing," Vahn repeats, standing up. "I hope you're not trying to keel my helpers."

"Nope. I am most definitely not doing that."

"Ah? Are you trying to keel _me_?" Vahn responds, moving his weapon a bit as a threat.

"Not qui—" Amer cuts off mid-sentence, spinning and shoving the needle into Vahn's lower arm. The 10 squeezes the handle-things together hurriedly and jumps back. He doesn't quite manage to avoid Vahn's first swipe, though, receiving a score across his left arm. Vahn makes another massive swing, but stumbles when he misses and suddenly collapses onto the ground.

Amer, crouching and panting, puts a hand over his wound and makes a pained sound of disapproval before deciding Vahn is out for the count. The 10 looks up at us and immediately gets to his feet.

I make an effort to stop shaking, but I only manage to make my head hurt, so I give up. Amer starts toward us speedily, slowing down once he's gotten about a foot away.

"I have no clue how long he'll be out," he pants, snatching both my and Eston's wrists. "We'd better get outta here now." He starts away from the tree, tugging on our wrists until we're able to keep up with him. We keep running straight to the crater's edge, where Amer pulls himself up and extends a hand to me. I clasp it with my right hand—so very luckily my dominant one—and I'm pulled up and over. Eston's already gotten himself to the top of the ridge, and he jumps over.

"I think there's an open crater over this way," Amer pants, motioning to our right. "Let's go check it out, huh?"

Eston nods as Amer and I go the rest of the way over the wall. Amer leads the way away at a quick pace. I allow myself one last glance back to Vahn.

And I can't help but think of how mad he's going to be when he wakes up.


	26. What You're Fighting For

Author's Note: A new, updated poll is up! (I highly recommend you read this chapter before voting, due to spoilers.) Please vote!

Recommended Listening: Point of Know Return by Kansas

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**Taberah Atalanta, District 4**

It's almost dawn, but the pack is still hunting. But not as a pack anymore. What with the failure to find anyone the first two days, and some sneak coming around to rob our Cornucopia, we decided to take our chances and split up. Ania stayed behind to watch the supplies, so that leaves four—well, three, I guess, since it's impossible to separate Sve from Finni—units tiptoeing around the mountainside.

Crawling carefully down a path of large rocks, I keep a tight grip on my lance. I'm still not comfortable with all of this, and I don't just mean scraping my hands on rocks and having to eat a lot less. I killed a person, and I'm expecting I'll have to do it again. It's only human to regret it.

But I can't let myself be human. All of these people are obstacles to me, to my father. I just have to remember what I'm fighting for.

I continue down the rock face, keeping a sharp eye out for any other tributes. They could easily sneak up on me in this light—or lack of light—and could just as easily outnumber me. I'll have to be quick, whatever... I do...

I stop climbing, looking down at my new discovery silently. Just a few more metres down, a tribute is snoozing. Out in the open. Nothing on her. No allies anywhere near to warn her of anything.

Not smart.

But it works for me. Maybe it'll be easier to kill someone when I can't see her face, don't give her time to struggle.

I shuffle down the mountainside, continuing to muffle my footfalls by staying slow. It's a minute or so before I'm finally standing in front of the girl from 8.

Wow. To think my second... elimination is going to be so easy. It's almost laughable.

"It's not very smart to fall asleep in the open," I allow myself to say quietly as I pull my arm and lance back to strike.

And then there's suddenly something very sharp ripping through my abdomen.

"...I'm a pretty light sleeper, actually."

I stumble backward, putting a hand to my stomach, although all it does is get coated in blood. I'm so blown away by the pain—despite my days in the Tributes' Survival Knowledge Centre, I've never actually been stabbed, let alone ripped open—I don't realise I'm screaming for half a minute. But I still don't stop myself. I need to focus my efforts elsewhere.

Like in killing this tribute.

My grip on my lance has become painfully tight, to try and distract myself from the much worse pain in my abdomen. I struggle back to my feet—when did I fall down?—and try to locate my attacker.

She's standing right in front of me, but with one jab on my part, it's easy to tell how much the blood loss has affected my aim—I somehow miss entirely and fall back onto my rear.

The 8 takes a step forward, whatever odd weapon she has poised above me. I try to push myself up, but I'm too weak.

No. This is not happening. I can't die here. I have to get home! I have to win and bring Dad the money for his treatment!

The 8 brings her weapon down on me, and it takes all the strength I have just to move my lance to block it.

I can't go down like this. I can't—!

The blade is shoved into my neck. After one last surge of unbearable pain, everything goes black.

**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

I look around one last time for Careers before hurrying back to my shelter. I make sure the one backpack at the outside edge of the crater, the one with meltable supplies, is there—it is—and then climb up on the wall of rocks. I roll over carefully, landing on crumbly dirt.

And then the heat slams into me. Hard to believe the Capitol could cause such drastic temperature changes, but I guess anything's possible. And one would expect it to be hot on the surface of a volcano.

Under normal circumstances, you probably wouldn't find me sheltering here. But there's actually a pretty decent-sized ring of land around the lava in the center, and the ground here isn't nearly hot enough to burn me.

There's always the issue of the Gamemakers making it erupt, but... I'm pretty sure I just launched myself into the clear. The Capitol has another death to amuse it. There's no reason to cause mine now. I should be safe more than long enough to get a decent amount of sleep here.

There is the question of whether I'll really be able to sleep, but I don't think I'll have problems. It never matters what's happened to me; when I want to nod off, I do.

So it probably doesn't matter that I've just murdered a girl.

Yeah, murder. I'm not going to pretend it's right. I'm not going to pretend I had a good reason to do it. I just fought for myself, like the Capitol wants me to.

In the end, that's what everyone here is doing. Whether we care to admit it or not. We're all just humans. We all just want to get out of here alive. Maybe we want some other things, too. But, whatever it is, it's for ourselves.

That Taberah girl. She talked about throwing herself into this for her father. But she didn't. She did it so she wouldn't have to experience the agony of losing her father. She did it for herself.

She fought for herself. I fought for myself. I won. That's just how things work in this place.

I roll over a little, close my eyes, and drift off to sleep.

**Natalya Larus, District 9**

I wake up.

That means I fell asleep.

Asleep! How in the world can I _sleep _without my brother by my side? I must have been beyond exhaustion to actually allow sleep to consume me.

How long are the Gamemakers determined to keep us separated? It's the morning of the third day. Two entire days without Vahn! I don't know how much more of this I can take! I-I'll go mad without him! _Mad_!

My body's already gone mad. It refuses to work for me. I must get to Vahn, but apparently there's only so much mountain-climbing one can do without anything to eat.

Where are my sponsors? They've already sent me some water, which is long-gone now. Why can't they send me food as well? I'm in no condition to hunt; my mindset's been shattered by the lack of my brother.

That, and I can barely move. But I'm quite sure the former is more important.

I'm still slumped up against the side of the mountain, glaring down at nothing in particular. There aren't any craters directly beneath me, and I'm too sore to move my neck in another direction.

But I still manage to see the billowing parachute land.

The donation is a foot above me, and I can't wave my arm around and reach it. But I'm not entirely convinced I can move over to get it.

But if I can't get as far as that, how in the world am I going to get to Vahn?

Grinding my teeth together, I make an effort and pull myself up, albeit slowly. It's a full minute before I can finally grab the parachute and the contents it obscures. I pull the cloth away to find...

An apple. A single apple.

_This _is the best the mentors could manage? I need fuel to continue my search for my brother, and all I'm given is a little apple?

I bring the fruit to my mouth, and a chunk of it vanishes into my mouth with a loud crunching sound. Only a skinny core is left within a few minutes, and I toss it feebly to the side.

I guess I do feel a bit better.

And if it helps me in any way to hunt down Vahn, I'm grateful.


	27. Friends

Author's Note: 100 reviews! *rolls around in joy* I love you all so much...!

And the 100th review spot went to Obiwanlivesforever, so... *throws confetti and streamers at OWL-F*

*looks around at all the other reviewers*

*throws the rest of the confetti on you all*

Recommended Listening: Our House by Madness

* * *

**Amer Jones, District 10**

The sunlight breaks through my eyelids, and I blink awake.

"I have to say, I wasn't expecting both of my allies to black out."

Rubbing my eyes, I sit up.

What's going on? I can hear voices... Hey, that was, uh, Eston's voice... Oh! Oh, yeah! We're allies now, aren't we? Sweet!

I look over at Raivis, slumped over on a tree stump next to Eston.

"Wait... I blacked out?" I blurt out, not figuring out how stupid that sounds coming from a guy that just woke up until after I've already said it.

"Yeah..." Eston looks over at our other ally, still in dreamland. "I guess I was kind of expecting him to lose consciousness. No clue how he didn't black out from the pain before then." He shakes his head slowly. "I'm sure I would have."

I glance at Raivis's hand, obscured by the completely-blood-soaked, makeshift bandage and a few pine needles that had blown over it. Whatever happened, it can't be pretty. Raivis suddenly rolls over, making me jump. Eston doesn't do a good job of stifling his laughter.

"Please tell me I didn't end up with another jumpy one," he says.

"You didn't," I respond, sticking my tongue out. "I just wasn't expecting him to move."

"And I _was_?"

"Aw, shaddup," I tell him, leaning over suddenly to bonk him in the arm.

"A-Ah!" Eston and I both look back down at Raivis, who's begun to thrash around.

"Looks like someone's having a nightmare," I say under my breath, stepping over. "Hey! Raivis!" I add loudly, cupping my hands to my mouth for a megaphone. "Wake up!"

"Ah!" Raivis squeaks again, blinking his eyes open. "Wh-wh-wha?" He looks around, befuddled.

"It's okay, Raivis!" Eston says, walking over and extending a hand to help our ally up. "It's just us."

"Y-y-y-yeah?" Raivis gets up shakily, but keeps looking around like a paranoid.

"No one's after you, dude," I assure him, getting to my own feet. He jumps.

"Y-y-y-you're here!" He looks at his shoes. "W-w-w-well, I g-guess I kind of knew th-that..." He looks back up at me, still scared. "Y-y-y-you're not m-m-mad at us, a-a-are you?"

"What, me?" I respond incredulously. "No way! I mean, I just wanted you guys to be my allies. And now we're allies. So... what's there to be angry about?"

"Oh. O-Okay." Raivis starts to rub his right arm, but, once he sees his hand, stops. "Th-th-there's s-so much blood," he whimpers.

He's not lying. Not only is the cloth soaked completely through, the rest of his hand is pretty well caked in the dried stuff, and some rusty-brown trails slide down his arm. Amazing how he's still able to stand.

"We should probably change that out," Eston mutters, taking hold of Raivis's wrist gently and examining the "bandage".

"Yeah... Hey! Sponsors!" I yell at the sky. "Could we get some—" My stomach decides now is a convenient time to cut me off by growling louder than I was shouting. "Some... gauze or something?" I finish weakly.

Eston looks over at me sympathetically. "Not much to eat?"

I click my tongue. "Nope." I motion at Raivis's hand. "But I have a feeling that's a little more urgent."

Eston nods just as the parachute comes floating down. He notices it about the same time as I do and snatches it before its cargo can hit the ground.

"Well, looks like someone's listening after all," he comments, taking out a roll of bandages with a little bottle tucked in its middle. "And something to keep away infection. Looks good." He glances back at Raivis, who hasn't lowered his hand, and then turns to me, holding the supplies out.

"Hang on to these while I take the old one off," he requests. I comply, keeping a tight grip so I don't drop anything. Watching as Eston finds the end of the cloth, I hear him tell Raivis to look away. The slightly-shaking boy gulps and does such, closing his eyes and craning his neck like he doesn't trust his eyelids.

I don't look away while Eston slowly unwraps our ally's hand—I can't even see anything, since Eston's blocking my view.

The old "bandage" drops to the ground, and Eston pulls away a little to ask for the antiseptic and the little cotton ball tied to the top of it.

But the request goes right over my head as I see Raivis's injury for the first time. I can't keep myself from gagging, and I think I'm really gonna throw up the few contents of my stomach, but I just end up coughing.

Raivis moans. "Is it really that b-bad?" he whimpers, scrunching his eyes more tightly closed.

"No, it's not any worse," Eston responds quickly, nodding at the bottle again more insistently. I hand it over quickly, using my now-free hand to cover my mouth, just in case. _Crap_, his hand is torn up. His freaking pinky's gone! And the bone is—Aw, man, I'm nauseous...

I'm snapped out of it by Raivis shrieking, just a little bit.

"Hey—Hey! You all right?" Eston reacts, pulling the cotton away from somewhere I'm not going to look again.

"It h-h-h-hurts," Raivis mumbles tearfully, back to trembling.

"It's just to make sure it won't hurt more later, right?" I put in, shuffling over to Raivis's side.

"Yeah," Eston says, letting Raivis sit down on the stump. "Just try to hold—" He cuts off, figuring out that asking Raivis to hold still is like asking President Snow to stop the Games. "Just don't fret about it, all right? I'll go over the edge of your hand, and that's it, okay?"

"O-o-okay..."

Eston gets ready to dab at Raivis's hand again, while I instruct the quaking one to hold onto my arm with his other hand and squeeze it if he needs to. Hopefully it'll keep him from biting his tongue off—although I get the feeling just telling him that could happen would make it a lot worse on him.

Eston starts back in with treating our ally's wounds, and I'm pretty sure the circulation to my hand is completely cut off by the guy's reaction. I can tell Raivis is making a huge effort not to scream—the pain becomes enough to drive tears down his cheeks. By the time Eston finishes, Raivis is shaking so hard I figure it's gotta be impossible to actually wrap the bandage around his injury. But Eston manages it somehow, and soon I'm able to look back at Raivis's left hand without triggering a gag reflex.

Raivis hasn't stopped squeezing on my arm, and I don't prompt him to stop. I personally haven't gotten a finger chopped off, so I can't say exactly how much pain it causes. He can clamp down as long as he needs to.

Although if he doesn't stop soon, I have a feeling some of my fingers are gonna have to go, too.

Would it kill the guys to send us some painkiller? He could really use some. Although I guess I've been asking a lot out of them recently, anyway...

"Amer, you're from 10, aren't you?" Eston decides to start up some conversation.

"Yup!" I respond. "Best freaking district in the world!"

"And they make meat out of livestock there, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then why are you so squeamish?"

"Squeamish?" I echo.

"You practically threw up when you saw his hand," Eston reminds me.

"Well..." I cross my free arm, which ends up looking kinda awkward, but I don't feel the need to correct it. "My family's more of the feed-'em-and-herd-'em kind. We don't do any butchering ourselves."

"But don't they talk about that in your schools or anything?"

"They do..." I squirm a little. "I'm not squeamish, all right? I just... I just think it's outright villainous that someone would do that to Raivis here!" I declare.

Eston nods, amusingly unconvinced. "Sure..."


	28. Human

Author's Note: In the middle of writing this, the Recommended Listening came on the radio. Made my day.

Recommended Listening: Crystal Ball by Styx

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**Fronce Foybon, District 6**

Igris and I are quietly preparing breakfast. It'd odd to have any silence between us. I honestly can't remember a time before now we've ever up and stopped taunting each other. It's kind of uncomfortable; Igris has tried to break it more than once, but I haven't responded. Because if I jeer at him back, it'll be like nothing happened. Like a girl didn't just die because of me.

Well, I guess it still couldn't be quite the same, since Igris has taken to preparing his own food rather than _risk _eating mine. Although I've informed him several times that I'm not using anything remotely poisonous anymore, he doesn't trust me.

And why should he? I don't even quite trust myself anymore. I keep second-guessing with the berries I've gathered, and at this point, I'm practically just eating everything plain.

Although it's still preferable to Igris's cooking.

...Look at that. I'm trying to go back to how things were again. I want to. But at the same time I don't. I feel like if I enjoy myself, it's shaming China's memory. Like I'm showing her poor, poor parents that I'm so much of a monster I can just go on normally after killing her. I don't want to do that.

To think I've spent almost all of my life trying to please the ladies, and the first thing I do in the Hunger Games is kill one. It's like an omen. The Games always change their tributes. I wonder just how different I'll become...

The thought scares me, so I focus more on my cooking. Which currently consists of swirling a pathetic little mass of egg in a bowl with no seasoning. Not usually my thing, but hey, I guess I'm already changing, anyway. As long as my cooking skills don't deteriorate to my ally's level, no problems here.

I glance over at said ally. He's having the same breakfast of eggs, but he's mixing in some random strips of leaves I don't recognise.

"You're going to poison yourself if you're not careful," I mutter.

"Am not!" he responds, letting go of his stirring stick to relieve an apparent cramp in his hand. "Unlike you, I actually know what's safe to eat." He goes back to stirring. "Did you not spend any time at all at the edible plants station in the Centre?"

"I was busy doing other things," I respond quietly, not wanting to start up another argument.

"Doing what?" he snorts. "Hitting on all of the girls?"

"No."

"Ah. All of the guys?"

"No!"

Igris just shrugs. "Could've fooled me."

"Just be quiet," I grumble, trying to locate our stash of firewood.

"Are you _still _beating yourself up about her?" he sighs.

"Do you think I shouldn't be?" I counter, stacking the larger pieces of wood and digging around in our supplies for the tinder.

"Obviously," he responds, moving a few boxes to reveal the little bag of tinder. "What exactly do you think you're accomplishing by being moody?"

"Accomplishing? Why do I have to be accomplishing anything? I'm just mourning her death like a decent human being!"

Igris laughs darkly. "We're not supposed to be decent human beings in here, remember?"

"I don't care what I'm supposed to be!" I snap. "If I want to act like I actually have some humanity in me—unlike someone _else _I can think of—then I'll do it!"

Igris raises his arms in feigned surrender. "Fine. It's your funeral."

"What? Are you saying good people can't win the Hunger Games?"

"Yes," he replies simply, bending over to get the fire started.

We don't speak any more. So he's made it clear. That's what he expects from the Games.

And he's already adapted this much. Or was he this heartless from the beginning? I can't know for sure. But if he's let go of this much feeling in just two days... What's going to happen as the Games progress? Is he going to turn on me?

Well, if we make it to the final two, he obviously will, but... What if he comes after me before then? What if I stop being useful and he abandons me like he did China?

...I don't know. I just have to hope that won't happen. After all, I'm not going to have any sponsors after killing my district partner. Most of these people aren't going to be willing to ally with me. I still need food and water, no matter where I end up. And I have plenty of it in this alliance.

And maybe Igris isn't that far gone. Maybe... Oh, I don't know. I don't know him, and I'm not sure that I really know myself any more.

I guess I'll keep pushing on and see if I can ever find out.

**Vahn Larus, District 9**

What...?

Something... happened. Sleepy. Waking up... slowly. What... What did happen? Can't quite remember.

I... was fighting. That boy from 10. And he... did something...

My arm hurts a little...

I roll over a bit and move my shoulder.

Oh, yeah... He stabbed me with that syringe... Must have been knockout medicine.

But... Why would he knock me out? It would be a convenient way to get rid of me, but he obviously didn't do that since I'm still alive.

At least I think I'm still alive...

I open my eyes, greeted by noontime sunlight, a mass of roots around me and a pickaxe underneath.

Yes, I'm still here. Still alive.

Then what did that boy want? He didn't kill me, and he didn't kidnap me.

Wait...

I blink and sit up, although the motion makes me so dizzy I can't actually look around for a minute or so. My head clears enough for me to identify the tree trunk, blood stain and all. But something's missing.

"Eston? Raivis?" I call, my voice still dry from waking up. There's no reply at all. I clear my throat and try again. Nothing.

...I suppose that's what he was after.

So... I'm alone now.

A slight shudder goes down my spine. I don't like that word. Alone. And I don't like being alone, either. While I can't really say I've ever had friends back in District 9... I've always had at least some underlings to spend my time with. To watch my back.

But now that those two are gone, I don't have anything. I know I said I could handle a few Careers, but I was really more sure the screams would echo around the mountain enough they couldn't place us. I'm certainly not weak, don't get me wrong, but Careers have trained to kill all their lives. I've only killed once—here—and it was more of an accident than anything.

So... what do I do now? Where do I go? After my newest minion/companions? I don't know where they went. And I'd probably have to kill the 10 boy to get them back.

...I don't know. Maybe I don't want them back. I could ally with anyone weaker than me, and, judging from the training scores, a lot of the remaining tributes fit that bill.

And I guess I technically promised to kill those two if they ran off.

Tsk, tsk. Such a shame. I really was getting to like them...

But I suppose a promise is a promise.

And, if nothing else, I hold to my word.

I scoot a bit away from my pickaxe so I can pick it up. I then get to my feet very slowly. Despite my efforts, my vision whorls again, giving me a headache.

Really, I'm not in the best fighting condition right now... Perhaps I should wait.

After a half-minute of the world continuing to wobble around me when I'm not even moving, I decide staying here a while to rest isn't the worst idea I've had.

So, I'll wait until the aftereffects of the drug fade away, and then...

I'll go fulfull my promise.


	29. Getting to Know Each Other

Recommended Listening: Rock the Casbah by The Clash

* * *

**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

"I'm still hungry."

If I didn't know him any better, I would think Spain turns and glares at me. But it's still not quite angry enough to be a glare. "And we still don't have any food."

"You think I don't know that?" I grumble back, pushing a thin branch out of my way as our alliance continues forward.

He sighs and mutters something to himself, ducking under one of the dangling vines.

"I don't think there _is _anything to eat in here," I add, kicking at a moss-covered rock. "If only we had something _donated_ to us..."

My ally sighs louder. "Will you quit nagging me about that? I did what I had to to keep you alive!"

"Forking over all of our supplies wasn't the only way to do it, you know!" I inform him. "You could've just threatened to kill him if he killed me! You're a year older and probably stronger; he'd believe you," I grumble, staring up into one of the trees in some attempt to make it give me food.

"Hm, actually, I think I'm two years older than him."

"Eh? He was seventeen, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think so."

I stare back at him. "As far as I know, seventeen plus two isn't eighteen."

"Well, yeah, I know that..." He sighs and looks up at a little patch of sky between the tree tops. "But, uh, today's my birthday. Or... maybe it was yesterday. I've kinda lost track..."

Promptly after he finishes saying this, a parachute plummets down toward us. Spain just manages to grab it mid-air. Getting the billowing cloth away from it, he reveals a watermelon-sized bag of small tomatoes.

I stare at it, as does he. He looks back at me. "Hey—food," he announces with a small smile. He tears the bag open and starts us out with one each. While he bites into his, I stare at mine for a little while.

"What's up?" he says through a mouthful. I turn my neck to stare at him.

"Why didn't you mention your birthday a little earlier?"

**Raivis Lithu, District 12**

I guess all of our sponsors must have pooled together. Or maybe one of us is just really popular.

Either way, we were just sent a basket of apples and some warm, cheesy bread. After Eston lectures Amer on rationing skills when the latter tries to eat three apples from the start, we have a nice lunch, and promise of a good—albeit colder—supper.

"So, what's it like in 12?"

Spinning my apple core in my hands slowly, I look up at the other two boys. "What?"

"What's it like in District 12?" Amer repeats. "Mining every day, or...?"

"Oh, no," I respond, "we don't do any mining until we're eighteen."

"Oh, yeah?" Amer responds, crossing his legs. "And how old are you now? Thirteen? No—fourteen, right?"

"U-Um..." I try to laugh a little, but it doesn't sound very cheerful. "I'm sixteen..."

"Wait, what?" Amer looks at me in disbelief for a moment before his jaw drops. "Hang on—that means _I'm _the youngest one in this alliance?"

"I-I guess so..." I spin my apple core between the fingers of my right hand. "Do I really look that young?"

Amer nods, and when I check Eston, he does the same.

I look back at the remainder of my apple. "Fourteen, huh? Two years... Wonder if trauma can freeze your growth," I comment.

"Maybe," Eston responds, scooting over closer to me. "You know, I bet that's _exactly _what happened. If it weren't for that Russia kid, you'd probably be a good ten centimetres taller."

"Ten centimetres?" Amer responds amusedly.

"Ten-point-four centimetres, to be more exact," Eston replies with a grin.

"Oh, now he's getting all scientific on us!" Amer says, holding his hands in front of him and backing up.

I laugh again. It sounds a little more natural this time.

Amer scoots backward enough to accidentally bump into one of the pine trees and is promptly greeted by a falling branch to the face. Well, more like half a branch; it's enough to make him yelp, but he's not seriously injured.

Eston, restraining laughter, shuffles over to get the wood off him and picks it up easily. Amer spits out a few pine needles and takes off his glasses.

"Aw, man!"

"What happened?" Eston responds, setting the branch safely elsewhere.

"Glasses got bashed up," Amer answers, squinting at the dented frame. "The lenses aren't broken, but..." He pokes at the wire lining—or, right now, hovering underneath—the bottom edge of his glasses, and it wobbles. "Hmm..." He grabs the wire and yanks it back and forth until it snaps off. Tossing the metal aside, he puts his glasses back on.

"Well, that coulda gone worse," he comments, swiping his hands across each other.

"Yeah," Eston agrees, pushing his own glasses up on his nose. After a pause, he starts, "How strong are they?"

Amer takes his glasses back off. "Why don't you see for yourself?" he suggests, holding them out.

Eston, amused, takes the glasses and removes his own, then handing them to Amer. They both put on each other's frames and squint, Amer going cross-eyed for a few seconds. I can't help but laugh at how funny he looks.

"You're _blind, _dude!" exclaims Amer, taking the glasses back off and rubbing his forehead. "I mean, I can't see that well without mine, but—crap!" He blinks furiously.

"Yeah, yours are definitely weaker than mine," Eston decides, taking the redone frames off and switching back with Amer.

They both look over at me before I realise I haven't stopped laughing.

"S-Sorry," I stutter, trying to calm myself down.

Amer grins at me. "No worries, dude."

"Yeah," Eston puts in. He seems like he's about to add something else, but thinks better of it. But once I think of why he wouldn't say it to me, I immediately figure out what it was.

_"You may not be able to laugh much longer."_

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

It's suppertime, so I distribute two more of our tomatoes. Lovi eats it too quickly and once again starts complaining about how hungry she is.

I've given up. I just don't understand her. I'm going to do things my way, and if she doesn't like it, she can leave.

Okay, no. I'm not going to let her leave, and I know it. Annoying as she is, she's still company... And... I don't know. I guess I feel the need to protect someone. I still feel bad about Perdita, even though I probably shouldn't.

—No. I should feel bad about it. It's just the Capitol trying to tell me I shouldn't. And I don't want them to control me! I really, _really _don't want that! It's bad enough already, with my reaction to Maria's death... And Aztinca...

All right, I definitely don't need to be thinking about her right now. Let's just focus on what's happening here.

So I focus.

And I suddenly hear growling.

"...and you could at _least _give me more than one stinkin' toma—"

"Lovi, quiet," I urge, looking around.

"If you give me another tomato, I'd be happy to compl—"

"Be quiet!" I roar. She finally snaps her mouth shut.

Something's still growling, but I don't see it anywhere.

"S-Spain? What's that?" Lovi starts, her voice terrifyingly lower.

I turn to see where she's shakily pointing and scrutinise the area. It's hard to see with all of these leaves hanging around...

And then I can finally make it out.

An impossibly large cat—it looks like a common housecat, but with raggedy fur and fangs the size of my hand—prowls toward us.

And then I realise there are three of them.


	30. Run Away

Recommended Listening: I Can See It in Your Eyes by Journey

* * *

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

I take a cautious step back. It doesn't seem to provoke the big cats, so I pull Lovi back a little. She doesn't quite get the message in time and ends up stumbling and falling back onto me.

The lead cat snarls, and they all come bounding toward us.

Lovi shrieks, turning and pelting away from them, and I hurry behind her after shaking off the surprise. It's easy for us to run since we're in a thinner part of the jungle—but that makes it easier for the mutts, too. While they're easily Lovi's height and at least twice as thick, they have no trouble navigating.

It's only a few seconds before I can tell they're gaining on us, despite our best efforts. Lovi can run surprisingly fast, and I'm not that slow myself, but at this rate we'll be cat food soon.

So, what? We try to fight? All I have is one hammer. I might be able to throw it hard at one of them, but there's no way I could take down three. I could always just try to punch and kick at them, but they're Capitol muttations. They're not going to be that easy to defeat.

Powered by adrenaline, my mind speeds through the remaining options. There's not enough time to make any sort of trap. I can't think of any outstanding trees or vines that they could get stuck in. My sponsors aren't likely to come up with a better weapon, considering they just sent a few days' worth of food.

Just as I've crossed off every possible choice I can think of, Lovi lurches for a nearby tree and starts scrambling up.

...Could _that _work? I'm pretty sure cats can climb trees... But if those mutts are as heavy as they look, maybe it'll be harder for them?

Well, I don't have any better ideas.

I pull myself up to the lowest branch—a feat considering one of my arms is occupied with our alliance's food—put a foot on the next highest, and, leaning against the trunk, push myself up. I continue to scale it until I'm resting on one about a foot below the seated and panting Lovi. I stay standing, though, peering down through the leaves to see the cats pull up to our tree. One of them immediately pounces on the lowest branch, tilting the tree a good ten degrees. I hold my breath—which is pretty useless since they obviously know where we are—and then hear a nerve-wracking splintering sound. The mutt yowls as its branch snaps off, and the tree rocks away from it, trying to get itself straight again. Wobbling, the tree tries to buck me off, but I manage to hold on.

The cats below have starting circling the tree, looking for a better place to start. Entertained by the slightest of hopes, I calm down enough to notice Lovi is crying. I glance over—since she's seated and I'm standing, our eyes are about the same level—to see her shakily clinging to her branch and sobbing.

I guess I can't blame her. Although we're safe for the moment, our futures aren't looking very promising.

A grating sound grabs my attention, and I direct my gaze back down.

"They're clawing their way through the trunk!" I breathe, looking around to confirm the nearest tree isn't within jumping distance.

"W-We're gonna die!" Lovi sobs, shaking.

"No, we're not," I respond automatically, although I believe it less by the second. The tree is starting to tilt again, and I have to grip a lot harder to keep from sliding.

"We're gonna die!" Lovi repeats, bawling so hard I can barely understand her. "Spain," she gets out after a few failed tries, "I'm sorry I never thanked you..." She sniffles loudly. "But th-th-th—" she seems to have a lot of trouble vocalising this—"thank you. For the food and for saving me from that crazy tribute and for taking watch so I could go to sleep and for getting me off the starting platform and for just helping me and-and-and..." She can't seem to say any more of whatever she's trying to say, so I take the chance to put in my own words.

"It's okay, Lovi," I reply softly, putting my hand over hers in an attempt to comfort her. She doesn't seem to notice. "I forgive you. And... you're welcome."

We stay there wordless for a minute before I suddenly realise something.

The tree isn't pitching anymore.

I look down, noting subconsciously the scratching noises have also stopped, and see the cats ambling away.

"Wha—" I cut myself off. While they probably haven't up and forgotten we're here, I don't want to take chances.

The mutts keep moving away hypnotically, and soon they've stepped over the jungle edge and disappeared around the side of the mountain.

Lovi, having her eyes closed tightly the whole time, doesn't notice their absence until I give her a little shake and prompt her to look.

"They're gone," I say warily, as if saying so could bring them back.

"Y-Yeah?" She peers down, sniffling, and finally discerns that they've gone. "Oh..." She's stopped crying in a matter of seconds.

"Yeah, nothing to worry... about..." I trail off at Lovi's bizarre mood change. Her countenance has darkened so much I'm grateful she's still turned toward the tree.

"I didn't say anything," she finally gnarrs.

I blink. "What?"

Slowly, like it's some sort of horror movie, she turns to glare at me. "You. Heard. _Nothing_."

"Er... Okay, okay! You... didn't say anything?" I respond, a bit confused as to why she's so averse to her own gratitude being known.

"That's right," she grumbles, shakily starting back down the tree.

**Eston von Bock, District 7**

Our alliance has settled down for supper. I'm the one in charge of rations, since Raivis is still too nervous and wouldn't let himself reach a solid decision. And Amer's obviously not in charge, considering he wanted to start us all out for _lunch _with three apples each, not to mention also devour all of the bread. We did end up eating most of the bread, just because it was still warm, and all of us could use a little comfort food after everything with Raivis's hand.

Now we'll be finishing up the loaf of bread, as well as going through another three apples. Among the whole alliance, not each, thank you very much. I consider letting us all split another apple—we're probably all used to supper being larger than, or at least the same size as lunch—but decide against it.

Although Amer still isn't happy with the amount of food he's given—apparently he's been climbing around and starving while we were sitting around and being fed—he doesn't try to bargain for more.

Now, he's taking a bite out of his apple, then looking around aimlessly. And then he suddenly freezes, staring off to his left. "Uh... Guys?"

"What?" I slowly follow his gaze and soon figure out what he's looking at. A snake slithers silently toward us, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth. From its colouring, I can tell it's poisonous.

"Gimme a rock or something!" Amer commands, backing up the slightest bit toward us. I turn toward the crater's wall—less than half a metre away—and try to find something conveniently dislodged. Before I can get my hands on anything, though, Amer's arrived at the ridge, and he soon finds a big enough boulder for his intentions. It seems almost too heavy for him, but he does manage to sneak back to his original position with it in his arms. The snake is significantly closer and still coming toward him. Amer waits a few tense seconds, and then hurls the rock down on the creature's head.

"Can we eat this thing?" he immediately asks me, before he even starts to nudge the rock back off it.

"Well... We should be fine as long as we avoid the head... And it doesn't show any signs of being a Capitol mutt, so it should be fine to eat."

"Sweet!" Amer exclaims. "So avoid its head... Got anything I can saw it off with?"

While Raivis twitches uncomfortably at the mental image, I locate a nice, sharp rock.

"Here you go."

Amer takes it from me and goes about separating the crushed and not-crushed parts of the snake. He grabs the tail end and, with a whoop, trots back over.

"You need to get rid of the head, though," I warn. "We don't want to run into it, since it'll still be toxic for a while."

Amer pauses, sets down the meat, and goes back over to the head. Scraping it onto the rock, he promptly flicks it away, sending it flying through the pines.

I put a hand to my forehead. "You were supposed to bury—" I'm cut off by an explosion, about where the head should have landed. Raivis yelps in surprise, and Amer just stares for a second. Suddenly, his condemning us to the edge of the forest for fear of running into the venom doesn't seem that bad.

"So, we're sheltering in a minefield," Amer announces after the stunned silence. He looks around us. "Who wants to move?"


	31. Brawl

Author's Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AXXI! *attempts to make you a balloon animal but gives up after being unable to inflate it*

Well... Here's an update for you, at least.

Recommended Listening: Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) by Elton John

* * *

**Sadik Ottoman, District 8**

Night has fallen in the jungle crater.

It seems to be getting pretty crowded here. I don't think the alliance I ran into earlier has left, I'm still here, and I spotted an alliance of three tiptoeing into the jungle from the pines nearby. It's not that big a crater, but there are plenty of trees to obstruct sight and sound, so for all I know even more people are hiding here.

The anthem comes on, but from where I am, I can't see the entire seal of Panem through the leaves. I can't see any faces, either; all I can make out is a large 4 beneath the obscured picture. It must be the girl, though, since I'm pretty sure the guy from 4 died a lot earlier.

That's the only number I see before the seal reappears. So, just one death today. The Gamemakers must be getting restless, unless there's some epic battle going on somewhere. Doubtful. All I can say is, when they unleash some disaster, I hope it's not near me.

But there are all sorts of people here. Maybe it's not that good an idea to stick around.

Of course, if they're just trying to drive us together, they wouldn't need to do anything dramatic when we're so close, right?

Ugh. It's horrid trying to figure out what the Gamemakers'll do. Of course, no one else will know, either, so I'm at no disadvantage. Well, if we're just talking about the other tributes. I'll always be at a disadvantage against the Gamemakers.

I ponder the possible disasters they could launch in this crater for a good half hour before I hear a sharp _crack_.

Snapping my gaze to its source, I squint through the darkness, but don't see anything.

Of course, going through a bunch of horrible, man-made disasters in your head, several of which aren't ear-splittingly loud, does not help one's composure. I go ahead and decide to move away from the sound.

I end up weaving my way around trunks for a few minutes before I even think about stopping. By now, I've reached a slightly thinner part of the jungle, and I realise I can distinguish the wall of the crater a few metres away.

So, is it a good idea to hang out this close to the bare side of the mountain? While it seems we're already down to two Careers, that's still two strong people out to kill me. I don't want to take my chances being practically out in the open.

A figure traversing the gap in front of me makes me freeze.

But he continues across without taking note of me, and then his silhouette vanishes behind one of the tree trunks.

I stay in my spot.

So... Out of all of the crazy things I imagined could force me into the path of another tribute... It just ends up being a harmless noise.

Well, hopefully harmless. Or not, since that would make my retreat even worse... I just hope nothing comes after me.

But the other tribute, apparently pacing, comes across the gap again and stops in his tracks. It takes a minute for me to be able to make out his face, but I can then discern that he's looking at me.

I whip out my knife, just in case, while the boy continues to peer at me. He's more bathed in artificial moonlight than me, so he must be having a little more trouble seeing who I am. Meanwhile, I can figure out who _he _is: Amer from 10. A member of that alliance that just hiked over here before sunset. I can't see his friends from here, but I finally realise he's starting to come toward me.

I step back in alarm, but the motion proves useless; before I can lift my knife, he rams into me and bowls me over. I somehow manage to lose my grip on my only weapon in the process, leaving me to feel around the dirt while trying to regain my breath—quite a difficult thing to do when a 10 is putting all of his weight on your torso.

My fingers shuffle around through the soil and a few bugs, and they finally locate the edge of my knife handle. But I can't quite reach it, and when I try to nudge it toward me, Amer suddenly gets off me, wrenching my arm upward. I'm forced to stand, so I stumble to my feet just in time for Amer to slam me back against a tree trunk.

"I don't know who you are," he says, quietly, as if he's trying not to wake someone up, "but you're not going to touch my alliance.

What is he talking about? I wasn't attacking anyone! He attacked me! What... Is it because I pulled out that knife?

I force myself to shove myself sideways and slide away from the trunk. I get a solid punch to the side of the 10's head and use the moment he spends reeling to look for the knife.

I can't see it anywhere. It must have gotten covered in dirt from all of our stomping around.

Amer's back to fighting condition and swipes at my own head. I dodge, getting in a blow to his stomach, and he immediately comes back with a jab to my chest. I send another punch at his head, but he raises an arm to block and delivers a swift kick to my stomach.

I stumble back with a cough, thumping into another tree trunk. Shuffling away quickly so I don't get pinned, I get an arm raised just in time to deflect his next punch. I don't quite manage to block the swift jab that follows, and end up with a fist to the jaw for it. Grinding my teeth, I land a blow on the side of Amer's face, and he retaliates with a punch to my ribs.

Even though I'm two years older, we're about evenly matched. Whoever finds that knife first is the one who will end the battle. Otherwise, we'll probably just end up knocking each other out.

I wrestle Amer, shoving him aside for a moment to browse through the dirt. But I can't feel it, and there's not enough moonlight here to bring out the shine of its blade.

Amer's back on me with a tackle, and I ram him into a tree to get him off. He staggers back, and then surges back forward, knocking me back against scraping bark. I push against the trunk with my legs and manage to throw him off, but stumble a bit myself.

We both stand panting for a second. Maybe we've both figured out neither of us is getting anywhere but injured. But if I've really done something to make him think I'm threatening his alliance, now's the time to say something about it. I get my mouth open before Amer flies back in with a soaring kick. I fold like a cheap chair, landing on my rear and banging my head against a tree.

The 10 doesn't take his foot off me, so I try to lift it off. He pitches backward just a bit before rethinking his strategy and stomping on me again. While I attempt to knock him over by kicking his ankles hard—it's not working very well—he lifts his foot further to kick me in the ribs. With a cough, I finally get him off me and stand before he can try it again. Amer stumbles around a little before aiming a punch at my face. I knock his hand away and kick at his stomach, knocking him back. Worn by the battle, he ends up falling backward and hitting his head on a small rock.

I step forward, ready to knock him out and get it over with the easy, not-having-to-trust-a-stranger-not-to-kill-you way, when he suddenly rolls over, yanks off his glasses, and slams the bottom of them against the rock with a shattering sound. He jumps back to his feet, and with a dampened roar, shoves one of the jagged lenses into my throat.

I stumble back, coughing and splitting out blood, but Amer makes sure the broken glass is ingrained into my throat before he finally pulls back and collapses onto his rear.

I get just a moment to lean back and rest before I choke on my own blood.


	32. Past and Present

Recommended Listening: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

* * *

**Amer Jones, District 10**

I drag myself back to where my alliance is sleeping.

Oh, I don't feel good. My stomach's beyond sore, my head is throbbing like crazy, and I'm just beat up. I bet it's going to be even worse in the morning.

And now, thanks to my lack of wearable glasses, everything's blurry. I'm not going to be walking face-first into tree trunks or anything, but I'm definitely not going to notice details. It'll be worse long-distance. I don't think an approaching tribute would disappear from sight, but it'd probably just be a moving blob over the hazy mountainside.

But you know what? It's worth it. I protected my alliance from a hostile tribute, and I'm not beaten up enough to be unable to do it again.

I cringe at my thought process. Protection or not, I still just killed a human being. But… I-I don't know. It's not like I don't have good reason. The guy pulled a knife on me. I wouldn't be able to keep fighting if it went on longer—not to mention he was about to knock me out. He may have lost the knife by then, but… If I'm not conscious, I can't really stop him from getting to it and killing me with it.

And if I'm gone, who's gonna protect my friends?

I clear the edge of the jungle and trudge on to my left, following my own footprints left in the soil. I reach my sleeping friends—in about five times the time it took to trek this distance unharmed—and slump down, back against the crater wall.

Within a few seconds of my doing this, a parachute comes drifting down. The donation lands in my lap, and I pull the cloth away.

I've received a sort of armoured glove, with several plates arranged on top of the cloth so I can still move my fingers unobstructed. There's no metal on the palm, but all of the plates on the furthermost joints—the fingertips, that is—have been drawn out past the cloth into shiny, sharp claws.

So I've gotten a nice weapon. The Capitol approves of what I've done tonight. But do I?

I don't know. No matter how I justify it, there's just something inherently wrong with killing another person. Maybe we could have become friends?

Well, no, that wouldn't happen. Every time I—or anyone else I saw, for that matter—approached Sadik in the Training Centre, he reacted in a very unfriendly way.

Maybe he wouldn't have gone through with killing me?

Well… He always acts hostile. He had a knife. If he wanted to live, he would have had to kill me, anyway, so I don't see why he wouldn't when he had the perfect chance.

No matter whether I'm trying to say what I did is right or wrong, I just keep going in circles. Things just don't make sense here. In the Hunger Games. It's senseless enough to force children to fight to the death without having to make it more… _interesting _for the viewers. Making the arena huge, so everyone can sneak up on everyone else. So people can hide, so people can ally. So people can betray the alliance and kill everyone anyway. So no one can trust anyone else unless they're foolish.

Hm. I guess that means I'm foolish for trusting Eston and Raivis so much. But you know what? I don't care. I don't care much about anything anymore. I just… I just want to help some people. I may end up traumatised, I may end up heartbroken, I may end up dead. But I don't care. I'm just going to help as many people as possible. And if that means hurting a few people, well, I'd rather let myself be a monster than force my friends to murder.

I don't know what difference I'm hoping to make.

But I really hope it's a good one.

**Vahn Larus, District 9**

I actually got a good night's sleep.

I pin it mostly to that knockout drug. Even now I doubt it's completely worn off. I've let it run its course without pushing it; I didn't search for my former companions yesterday, so I just ended up climbing some of the tree's branches in search for food. I seem to have already gone through most of the squirrels, but I still got my hands on a good handful of small birds.

Of course, it ended up taking about the whole day to actually eat them, since I'm absolutely no good at feathering or skinning or boning or whatever you're supposed to do to the things. The meat's not as appetising when it's mangled, bloody, and—after some misuse of a fire—horribly burnt, but, you know. It's still food.

A dinner like that really made me miss my minions. I suppose meals like that will be commonplace if I don't get them back.

But it would be such a mess to try and re-recruit them. I don't know how their minds would be affected by the death of the 10, but surely they wouldn't work as well. And if poor, little Raivis gets it in his mind that he still needs to run away, I'll have to keep punishing him. I don't want to keep expending my energy and dulling my pickaxe when there are so many other tributes to deal with. Fourteen remain to be killed at the moment, and I'll need to keep my strength if I plan on eliminating them all and earning my life.

So, although my taste buds will certainly regret it, I'll go ahead and kill them.

Resting my pickaxe on my shoulder, I hop onto the crater wall, hop back off, and look for my prey.

**Raivis Lithu, District 12**

By the time I wake up, Eston is already fingering our remaining apples to decide what we'll get for breakfast. Or _if _we'll get breakfast.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Amer greets loudly, smiling. He seems glummer than usual… But it's Amer. He's always cheerful. I must just be imagining things.

"Morning," I get out quietly before Eston turns to see me.

"Hey, you're up," he says aloud, setting an apple back in its little basket. "So, guys," he starts, "do you want less for lunch and supper, or no breakfast?"

"Uh…" Amer sighs. "I vote for no breakfast."

"Okay. You, Raivis?"

"U-um…" I look down at the basket. "I-I agree?"

Eston raises an eyebrow, but nods. "Works for me."

I yawn, rubbing the last of the sleep out of my eyes and looking around. The sun's up—since when do we have a sun here? Maybe I just didn't notice it before—the jungle is whispering in the breeze, Eston is scratching into the dirt boredly, and Amer is…

"Wh-what happened?" I exclaim, staring at his bruised limbs and face, and his scuffed-up clothes.

Amer blinks, and I realise he's also lost his glasses. "Uh, yeah… On my watch, I kinda… fell down the side of the mountain a little bit…" He laughs, but it sounds forced.

"Graceful, graceful," Eston responds, a ghost of a smile on his lips, sounding like he's already been told this.

"Aw, shut it," Amer responds, feigning sulkiness.

I smile a bit, and then look down. I immediately notice my hand. It's still wrapped carefully, but it's going to have to stay in the same gauze for a while, since we've run out. Eston has assured me it's unlikely to get infected, but it's been hurting a little more this morning… Or maybe I'm just imagining it? I don't know.

And then I suddenly hear a crunching sound to my right. I look, peering over the crater edge, and my heart stops.

Vahn is walking toward us.

"Raivis? Raivis! What's wrong?"

I barely notice the words, just like I barely notice how much I've started shaking. Subconsciously, I jump to my feet, almost stumbling. And then I turn around and bolt.

I make an effort to warn the others before my voice is out of range, but I don't quite form words.

For the most terrifying second, I imagine them being skewered by Vahn, and myself being targeted right after. Then two sets of footsteps pound after me, and I know we're in this together.


	33. Possibilities

Recommended Listening: 99 Luftballoons by Nena

* * *

**Natalya Larus, District 9**

I think I've finally found his trail.

In a manner of speaking, at least. There's not actually a physical trail, per se, but I swear I caught a glance of him by the crater with the giant tree. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't just one of my imaginings of him again.

So, if there's a chance of finding Vahn, it's completely worth the trek.

Not to say it won't be a difficult trek. While I did receive some water from sponsors, I'm still running on that one little apple from yesterday. My hands have already been generously graced with callouses, cuts, and various abrasions from the mountainside. My muscles are sore from all the climbing I've already done. My eyes are dull from lack of sleep. My hair is greasy, and I feel filthy and miserable.

But I finally have the opportunity to make everything better. My brother is down there waiting for me. And I am not going to disappoint him.

I start down the mountainside, with nothing but fantasies of our blessed reunion to keep me going.

I've already worked out a million ways it could happen. He could already detect me, and I could run straight into his open arms. Maybe he won't see me, and I can surprise him with a sneaky kiss to the cheek. Maybe we'll both wander around the tree before suddenly running into each other. Maybe we can finally get married after that.

Whatever the case, I am finally going to be with my brother.

And that's more than enough to keep me going.

**Eston von Bock, District 7**

Our alliance is running. It probably isn't the best strategy, considering Amer actually has a weapon now, but we don't have much of a choice when Raivis goes charging into the jungle.

But within a minute, Raivis yelps, coming to a stop. It's a few seconds before I can actually see him, and by the time I do, he's already endeavouring to escape.

He's been bound somehow by a thorny, unnaturally cyan vine, and his struggling isn't helping to free him.

"Quit squirming!" I tell him, rushing over to see if I can help.

The vine wraps thoroughly around his wrists, which are subtly bleeding, and winds around his torso and legs a little less densely.

Amer, pulling up the rear, finally arrives panting.

"Can you cut through it?" I ask him, getting out of the way while Raivis whimpers and shakes.

"Probably," he gasps, sliding his armoured glove on. He grasps the vine as close as possible to Raivis's hand without impaling his own fingers and puts a claw to the plant. It takes an anxious moment of sawing, but soon the vine is cut, a portion dropping down to Amer's feet. I get to work unravelling the other part from Raivis's wrist while Amer goes to our ally's other side.

Luckily, we get him unbound before Vahn has gotten to us, and, not wanting to inadvertantly get tangled, we move on carefully. Amer stays in the back, weapon ready, while I jog just behind Raivis, trying to analyse his injuries. The backs of his wrists are cut up pretty badly, and there's a series of puncture wounds diagonally across his back. We're out of bandages, so I can't wrap anything up properly, but I can get some disinfectant on him and use up a little more of my shirt.

After we get out of this, at least.

We must have changed direction after freeing him, because we're back out of the jungle in about a minute. Checking his surroundings nervously, Raivis decides we're still not safe and keeps running. I clamber over the wall after him, and I can hear Amer behind us.

We end up climbing for about five minutes, and we reach the uppermost crater, the empty one, before Raivis finally decides to stop the manic dash. He collapses against the crater wall, gasping for breath, while Amer and I settle next to him. Amer's still recovering from the sprint—I'm finding his story of simply tumbling down the mountainside a thinner and thinner excuse for his injuries—when I set down our basket of apples and start ripping up my shirt again for bandages. Amer immediately objects, demanding between heavy breaths that we use his instead, but I decline.

In a few more minutes, Raivis is patched up somewhat—his wrists, at least, since I don't have enough shirt to wrap around his torso—and Vahn still hasn't caught up with us. From the looks of it, he must still be wandering around the jungle.

We stay in our little hideout for a while and I discern Vahn returning to the giant tree he had held us captive in. He must have given up.

"I-is anyone else c-c-cold?" Raivis starts, doing more shivering than shaking for once.

"It is kinda cold up here," Amer admits, not shivering himself. "You wanna borrow my jacket?" Before Raivis can say yes or no, Amer's taking off the coat and putting it over Raivis's shoulders.

Although I agree it's a tad chilly up here, I'm perfectly fine with my jacket zipped up halfway. Amer's not looking very cold, either, even though he's completely without a jacket. Maybe District 12 is just a warmer place than 7 or 10.

I look at our remaining food. It's still too early for lunch, although I'm seriously tempted to dish out some food, anyway.

My attention is brought back to Raivis by his teeth chattering. I exchange a glance with Amer. There's no way it's cold enough here to cause that.

"Hey, Raivis?" I start, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Y-y-y-y-yeah," he responds quietly, pulling himself into a tighter little ball. "J-j-j-j-j-just r-r-r-really c-c-cold."

I look at his wrist. The makeshift bandage is bloodstained, but he's not bleeding nearly bad enough for that large a temperature change. The crater still isn't a meat locker.

Something must be wrong with him.

I shuffle closer, trying to share body warmth although I'm not convinced it'll do any good.

The vines were definitely mutts; I couldn't imagine something that bright blue would be natural. Was it poisoned?

Raivis either senses that he's the only one feeling the freezing temperature or gets even colder, because he starts whimpering.

"Hey—hey! Raivis!" Amer calls, shaking the 12 a little bit. "What's going on?" Amer shifts his gaze worriedly toward me. Not wanting to frighten Raivis any more, I mouth "poison", and Amer pales.

"Sponsors!" the 10 screams to the sky. "Come on! Can't you send something to help?"

But no parachutes answer his cry, so he grits his teeth and scoots back next to Raivis.

Amer puts an arm over Raivis's shoulders and squeezes. "Just hang on, okay?" he says shakily. "You'll be okay! We just have to-to get a donation!" He looks desparingly up into the sky, but still gets nothing for it.

I try not to react when I realise Raivis's shaking has gotten weaker.

"Raivis?" Amer says loudly, giving our ally a little shake. Raivis doesn't respond. "Raivis!" Amer shouts, panicked. "H-Hey! Don't give up! We just-we just have to-to get a donation..."

Raivis stops shaking.

"H-Hey! _Hey_!" Amer grabs Raivis by the shoulders and shakes, madly trying to get some sort of response.

"Amer!" I say sharply, trying not to let my voice break. "Leave him alone."

Amer stops shaking, but can't get himself to let go.

The cannon fires.

Taking deep breaths, I nudge Amer away from Raivis, and he lets go numbly. The hovercraft arrives in just a few seconds, and Amer just stares at the spot where our friend was.

I rack my brain for ways to comfort him, but I'm too grief-stricken myself to come up with anything. We just sit in silence for a few moments.

"...We were running from Vahn," Amer murmurs blankly.

I turn to look at him and find he's trembling. But not from cold.

He suddenly stands up.

"What are you doing?"

Amer pulls his weapon back out of his pocket and tugs it back over his hand before responding solidly:

"He's not going to kill you both!"

He jumps over the crater wall, and I'm left to stumble after him.


	34. Vengeance

Author's Note: So I found out the Glee version of "Don't Stop Believing" has become more popular than Journey's ever did. I decided to dish out my troubles concerning this to one of my friends. She responded, "I guess that just means Glee is better than Journey."

...

_Please excuse me if this chapter is more violent than usual._

Recommended Listening: Edge of the Blade by Journey (Used it in _Brutal_, but it's the best-fitting I can think of for this chapter)

**

* * *

**

Amer Jones, District 10

I send a flurry of rocks clattering down the mountainside as I progress downward. I trip and tumble, bashing my injuries even more, but I hardly notice. The tree is nearing, and that's all that matters.

Arriving at the crater edge, I tell Eston to wait. Vahn is hiding out here somewhere, and I wanna be the one to find him. Eston, still a ways behind, nods since he's breathing too hard to reply, and I turn back around. Climbing over the crater wall carefully, so I don't scrape anything and make noise, I land quietly on the gnarled roots. Vahn is still behind the trunk somewhere—since it's such a massive piece of wood, I'm not surprised I can't see him.

But that also means he probably hasn't seen me. Good. It'll be easier if I catch him by surprise.

Holding my breath, I shift my fingers in my glove and walk silently to the trunk.

A cannon somewhere breaks my focus. For some odd reason I decide to look around—

—Just in time to see Vahn sliding his pickaxe out of Eston's forehead. Unsupported and unanimated, my friend crumples to the ground immediately.

Rendered witless, I stare as Vahn walks slowly toward me. At the edge of my vision, the hovercraft rids the arena of Eston's corpse.

Corpse.

_Corpse!_

Vahn—_killed—_him!

"_You monster_!" I charge for the small distance separating me and the murderer, ready to swipe. I make the first move, but he easily blocks with his pickaxe. With a demonic screech, I wrench the weapon out of his grasp, send it flying to the side, and dig my weapon through his stomach. Blood gushes out pleasingly, and as my claws exit his torso Vahn utters a cry of pain.

But it's not enough.

Before he can raise an arm to block, I force my glove through his stomach, again, again, _again_! He staggers backward, ramming into the crater wall and falling to his feet.

I descend at once, claw ready, and keep shredding. Vahn continues to cry out in pain, but I continue to rip my weapon through him. He can't get enough pain. There's no way I can dish out enough to properly punish him for what he's done.

I start to have less resistance as I keep slicing into him, and I think I hear the sound of weak crying.

So he doesn't have a heart, but he has tears. Hm.

Not sympathising in the least, I keep up my attack.

"Pl-lease stop!" he begs, struggling to make himself speak.

My gaze having never left his face, I just glare straight into his eyes.

"Stop? _Stop_? Why would I _stop_? Did _you_ stop?" I scream. "Did you even stop to think when you killed them? Did you ever stop and think about what you were doing? Murdering them, murdering their families' hopes, murdering _my _hopes? What do you think you did to _me_, huh?" I shout, gripping his collar with my free hand and keeping up the assault with my other. "I'm never going to be happy again! Oh, but you know what? If you just targeted me, I could forgive you. But you murdered my friends! In _cold blood_, you ripped their lives away from them! And _that _is unforgivable!"

"I-I just vanted to go h-h-home..." he responds weakly, closing his eyes.

"You don't deserve to go home!" I scream. "You don't deserve anything! You don't even deserve death—you're worthy of much, much worse punishment—punishment I can't give. I hope you burn in agony for all eternity, you sorry, _sorry_ excuse for a man!"

I feel my weapon come up against something hard when his cannon finally fires. So I look down.

And instantly regret it. The first thing I notice is my blood-saturated glove scraping against his spine. And then I make out the unidentifiably shredded remains of his internal organs, stretched out in sickening splatters of blood across the ground. Torn fibres of muscles lie limply a foot away, and I can't even begin to tell where all of the skin went.

Even with my vision blurred, it's too much for me to stand, I stumble away, trying not to retch and focusing my attention anywhere but below me.

And I see Natalya arriving at the edge of the crater. It takes a moment before she catches sight of her brother and starts making a horrified, strangled gasping sound. Her eyes flicker to me for a moment, and then back to Vahn's mutilated body. She climbs over the ridge slowly but jerkily and staggers toward the gore before collapsing to her knees.

And then she sobs.

I look away, unable to keep watching. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I walk away.

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

The waves continue to lap onto the shore, even though there's still no wind to stir them. Fronce and I are sitting nearer the other edge of the crater, in the sand, having a late lunch. Mostly because we had to wait a bit to get more unbrackish water.

The donations have been coming in more slowly today. We're still not going hungry or anything, but we're no longer finishing meals with satisfyingly full stomachs.

I guess this is only going to get worse as the Games go on. Even with my family's funds, we can't keep this up forever.

So, in a day or two, we're going to try and get all of our own food. We'll leave the water to the sponsors—I'm sure they all can keep up with that much, not to mention I haven't seen anything but brine thus far. I wonder if the Gamemakers are trying to dehydrate us to death instead of starve us to death this time. Just to give things a twist.

We finish up our makeshift sandwiches—that is, half-loaves of bread with holes dug out and filled with a few slices of turkey and cheese. Mine has a few plants and things in addition, but Fronce hasn't dared to put any in his.

He hasn't been taking chances with much of anything. No berries, no plants—although I _assure _him that what I've picked isn't poisonous, he just won't believe me—nothing we've found here.

He's not like his usual self in that aspect, but he's starting to quit moping around about China. Good. It's definitely not going to be beneficial for him in any respect. I may have to put up with his arguments a bit more, but at this point it's practically as entertaining to me as it used to be for him.

There's not much to do out here. Sleep. Cook. Bicker. Hope you don't get killed. That's about it. I could probably ask for an entertaining donation, but it'd be a waste of money. I'd like to save my sponsors' funds for more necessary things.

Speaking of which, another parachute is dropping down now. Fronce, occupied taking the last few bites of his sandwich, doesn't quite notice until I've already picked it up.

"What's that?" he says after swallowing a mouthful.

I look at the donation. It's a little, white package, about the size of those stupid little silica packets you get in store-bought things, the kind with "DO NOT SWALLOW" stamped all over them.

Instead of that repetitive phrase, however, this packet is marked only with three capital letters. It takes me a second to figure out what they stand for

"Just one of my rich-boy treats," I respond dismissively, putting the packet in my jacket pocket before Fronce can see it. "Don't try to take it or I'll kill you."

Fronce puts up his hands. "Fine, fine. Who am I to make you share your supplies like any other ally?"

"I'll tell you who you are: a git with nothing better to do than nag other people about their quirks."

And, just like that, we're back to arguing.

Oh, joy.


	35. Supercritical

Author's Note: For those of you who aren't hopeless chemistry nerds (like I am), that's what the chapter title refers to. In short, a supercritical fluid is a substance at such a high temperature and pressure it's impossible to tell whether it's a liquid or gas, since it exhibits properties of both phases.

Recommended Listening: Livin' Thing by Electric Light Orchestra

* * *

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

Looks like that life-and-death situation didn't change anything after all.

Well, I'm a little more paranoid of crazy mutts running around, but that doesn't really count. Lovi's acting the same, like she never said anything yesterday, and I'm... probably acting the same as before, too.

Right now, we're just hanging out around the trees. We've gotten through almost half of the tomatoes, but that means we still have more than half left to eat. It may not be the most varied diet, but I'd rather eat tomatoes over and over than go out and get mauled by some waiting mutt.

Yeah, our supplies aren't going to last forever. But we may as well take advantage of them while we can.

"Hahahahaha!" I look around in confusion at the sudden laughter, still weirded out by the time it starts being stifled. It sounded like Lovi, and it sounded like it came from the direction she was going to in order to... do the opposite of eat. She certainly doesn't sound endangered, and I really don't want to walk in on her in an awkward moment, but this is the Hunger Games. I'd much rather embarrass her than risk her life.

Putting my still-thankfully-unused hammer in my jacket pocket, I get to my feet and start slowly toward Lovi. All the leaf-rustling I'm doing in the process would warn an attacker, anyway, so I call her name.

"Uh—yeah, one sec!" she responds quickly, and I stop in my tracks. I'm just being paranoid. She's still fine. While I have no idea why she would find reason to laugh at this particular time, she _is_ pretty strange.

But she still doesn't come around, leaving me befuddled. Is it really her? Is there some jabberjay messing with me instead? I don't see how laughing could be the best way to do that—not only would a scream bring me running faster, that'd be much easier to make than a laugh with the audio software.

So it has to be her. There's no other possibility.

I wait for a minute, but she still doesn't progress toward me.

What's going _on_?

Keeping my gaze high in case I walk in on something I shouldn't, I step over toward Lovi. She soon comes into view; she's fully clothed, sitting, back toward me, hunched over.

"Lovi?" I call uncertainly. "What are you doing?"

Lovi jumps a little bit, glances back at me quickly, and turns back around. "Nothing," she says quickly, her voice a bit muffled.

"Lovi?" I walk over to her side, and she hunches more. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!"

"Lovi."

She moans, like she really doesn't want to reveal her find, and straightens up. Clutched tightly to her chest is the bag of beef jerky.

"You found—"

"Yeah, I found it. So it's mine," she interrupts, grasping the bag tighter.

"Well... I found the tomatoes, so I could claim all of them," I counter.

"Fine," she scoffs, "I don't need your stinking tomatoes. Just don't take my jerky." She finishes by shoving what I assume is not her first piece of jerky today in her mouth.

"Okay..."

This girl's crazy.

**Amer Jones, District 10**

I'm climbing back up the mountain. The basket of apples should still be sitting up there since Est—since I, uh, didn't pick them up before I… climbed down.

I'm not hungry. I don't think I'm going to be for a long time yet. But I still have to eat. And I just need to be _doing _something. Focus on moving myself instead of what I've done.

Because thinking about that doesn't do me any good. What, is it going to help figure out who I am? Because I can say for sure I don't have a clue about that anymore. I tried to save my friends, then went crazy and turned into a murderer. Or maybe I was a murderer in the first place and just didn't get the right chance until now. I don't know. What's it matter? If I'm a psycho killing machine, knowing it isn't going to stop me. If I'm not a psycho killing machine, I'll probably end up one, anyway.

But I can't keep myself from hoping I'm not. I was just trying to defend my friends… But, the more I think about it, the more I doubt it. Why did I go after Vahn? I could have hidden out with Eston for who-knows-how-long and defended him when that waste of air came strolling along—

You know what? I can't call him that. He murdered people in cold blood, sure, but if I say _anything _bad about him, I'm just a hypocrite. Look what I did. Tore him to bloody shreds and left his sister to deal with it. How is that different at all? I destroyed her as much as I've been hurt.

I wonder if it would have been better to kill her then, so she wouldn't have to become something like me. So she wouldn't have to live through something like this.

I pound my fist into the mountainside.

What was I _thinking_? Kill her? Just because I'm a miserable excuse for a human doesn't mean she has to turn out that way, right? Why would I even think about taking away her only chance for a future?

That does it. I'm a psychopath. I'm a murdering madman, and I _hate _it.

All right, there may be a sliver of a chance that I'm still sane, but I doubt it. What kind of sane person makes a guy bleed to death by ripping out his internal organs, all the while screaming at him for something he can't change?

I still can't believe I really did what I did. _Gutted _him. Shredded his abdomen to the point of unidentifiability. I've never seen a tribute do something like that. I've never even seen a _Career _try something so cruel!

I don't know what's wrong with me. I try to help people—or at least, I think I do; I don't really trust my mind anymore—and then murder brutally. I—I just don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

About my mind, at least. I'm still pretty sure I'm on a mountain, just about to where the apples lie.

Pulling myself over a bulwark of stone, I confirm this thought. The apples are still lying forlornly in their little basket, right where we left them.

I walk over and sit next to the basket, shedding my glove. Even though It's well past lunchtime and I've had nothing to eat today, I'm not hungry. But I have to make myself eat if I want to survive at all. Begrudgingly, I take one of the six apples and force myself to take a bite.

Hm. So I was wholly dedicated before to net letting a murderer live, but apparently I'm not so opposed now. Just a hypocrite all over the place.

I eat a little more—while my brain's hardly ready to let me consume anything, my stomach valiantly fights for its share—and when I have nothing in my hands but an apple core, I toss it behind my back and down the mountain.

So, what now? Apparently I don't want to up and kill myself. But I'm gonna go crazy—crazi_er—_if I just sit around and do nothing.

I look over at my glove. It's still soaked in crimson, and the plates are coated with blood. I should wash it out or something. Yeah. That'll keep me occupied.

I still have some water from a few days ago, but I don't want to use it all up on that. Hm.

Well, there was a beach thing, wasn't there? That has enough water for this. Yeah. Let's try that out.

Holding the basket and the glove, and trying desperately not to think, I start back climbing down.


	36. Capitol Creations

Recommended Listening: The Way It Is by Bruce Hornsby

* * *

**Rome Gnaeus, District 1**

Apparently the Capitol doesn't like us much this year. We've been exploring as much as any other Career group—actually, _more _than any Career group I've seen. Since none of our hunts have been successful, we've upped and upped our number of daily excursions, and at this point we hardly rest at all.

I don't know how we lost favour. The Cornucopia incident, probably. The bloodbath was admittedly pathetic. Has the Capitol been against this group since the beginning? I know they've helped out the Careers before, sending them convenient natural disasters and such to drive the other tributes toward them. I highly doubt the Capitol's lost the power to do such things, so I guess they just don't approve of us.

Or at least they approve more of someone else. A lot of cannons have gone off today, none of which were caused by us. Maybe the Capitol decided to help out some promising psychopath. Pretty sure that's happened before, too.

In any case, we're definitely not going to get any more help today. There have been enough deaths to keep the Capitol buzzing long past nightfall. Any tribute we get today, we'll have to catch ourselves.

Today, we've proven the prarie crater is still unoccupied, certain parts of the mountainside don't have any tributes lounging around, and no one's in a somewhat safe part of the pine forest. We didn't try to venture in very far; I'm pretty sure those muttated pinecones are what did Vash in, and I'd rather not follow his fate.

Right now, we're just navigating the mountain again. I lead the way, most of our supplies in my backpack, while Ania, Sve, and Finni follow in single file for now. We're crossing a pretty narrow lip of stone, so our normal formation is not really possible right now.

"Ah!" comes a yelp from behind, accompanied by the clattering of bouncing rocks. I snap my gaze backward to see Finni tumbling and flailing around madly for a handhold. She's barely fallen a metre before Sve manages to snatch her arm and starts to pull her back up.

Tsk. Wish I were next to her when that happened. It's so dog-eat-dog out here, and I'm dying for a show of chivalry.

Or maybe I would have rather had Ania fall behind me. So I could lurch out, putting my life on the line for her safety, while she lets herself be pulled up in shock. And when she recovers, she'll finally realise just how much she really loves me.

Or something like that.

Sve pulls Finni up slowly, not wanting to compromise his own position and send himself and his girlfriend tumbling. Finni whimpers, trying not to move much. She does, however, attempt to help Sve out by pushing herself up on one of the jutting rocks.

And then the rock abruptly gives way.

Finni jolts down a bit with another yelp, but Sve doesn't lose his grip. Panting, the girl watches the rock clack down a ways with a shudder, and then looks at the hole she opened up and stares.

"S-S-Sve?" she starts timidly.

Sve doesn't give a verbal response, but his expression shows the faintest trace of questioning.

"C-can you pull me up a little faster? I see e-eyes in here!"

Sve's eyes flare open, and he starts tugging harder, almost slipping off the rock.

Finni's been pulled up about a foot by the time she's attacked.

Before anyone can lift a finger to stop it, whatever was hiding in that hole—something with fluffy, lime-green fur—jumps out, and, with a high-pitched sound that brings back some painful memories from the dentist's, stabs its rotating cone of a tail into Finni's stomach. Sve reacts quickly, swinging her away from the mountainside and the creature, but the momentum's too much for him, and they both go tumbling down. It's only for two or three metres, luckily for them, and then Sve sits her up against the mountainside.

I can tell from here how shredded a vortex has been drilled out of her abdomen; she has an apple-sized hole through her skin and an appropriate amount of blood coming out of it.

Sve looks—no, glares—up at us.

"Bandages. Now," he demands with a growl.

And it's hard for even me to imagine doing anything otherwise.

**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

So much for my peaceful little hideout. I guess the Capitol's not too fond of teenagers who pretty much spend all of their time sleeping. Maybe they thought I was making fun of their Games, not having to worry about anything. I tried to clearly establish I was willing to play by their rules—reference: murder I committed—but I guess that didn't keep me safe.

Getting woken up abruptly by a donation to the face is more or less what kept me safe.

And by "safe", I mean "alive" rather than "got out of the suddenly-active volcano without purposely getting a burn on my arm to dissuade the Gamemakers from thinking I'm able to beat them". Because the latter definition of "safe" does not apply here.

I also let my bag of meltable supplies, the one just outside of the crater, get caught up in the lava. The other backpacks were already on me, in case I'd have to run from something quickly, so I still have a few days' worth of food. I didn't lose my weapon, either.

So, I still have a lot of supplies, so I don't look like an unprepared idiot, but I still got injured, so I don't look like I'm trying to beat the Gamemakers.

Because that's the last thing I want. If you make an enemy out of the tributes, there's not much of a difference since they all need you dead, anyway. If you make an enemy of your sponsors, you lose promise of supplies. But if you make an enemy of the Gamemakers, you're dead for sure. They don't want to be shown up. The whole purpose of the Hunger Games is to show we district people are helpless against the whims of the Capitol. So if it seems we're not, even for a second, things'll get a whole lot worse. The Gamemakers control just about everything here. You can't escape.

But you can survive if you do everything right.

And that's what I'm hoping to do. I've studied the Games since 11. I can't say I know everything about the Gamemakers—they're a twisted bunch of people, and the group switches out a few members from year to year—but I definitely have a good idea of how things work around here. If a certain time interval sees no deaths, a natural disaster or mutt attack is triggered. If a certain time interval sees nothing interesting at all, such as romances, non-death-related betrayals, confessions, etc., the Gamemakers will force tributes together with similar methods. In the latter case, the disasters and mutts generally aren't as dangerous; they're just hazardous enough to move tributes around without killing them. Because, sure, the Capitol thinks gruesome deaths in general are entertaining, but making the children murder each other instead of just siccing some animals on them is so much juicier.

It's disgusting, what they do. But how would Panem be without the Games? It's impossible to tell. You have to say, it's incredibly effective in keeping down rebellions. 45 years since the beginning of the competition, and still going smoothly. The Capitol's still well-off—they have enough free time to watch the Games and enough money to follow all of their fashion trends—and the districts still work for them. The Peacekeepers still have enough power and enough loyalty to keep dissenters in line. It seems like a pretty stable system. Horrible, but stable.

Of course, it'll fall eventually. Everything does. Everything from the first civilisations on Earth to the countries around the world from centuries ago. Panem will fall, too. Eventually, things will break down. Maybe the Peacekeepers will rebel. Maybe the amount of control will gradually weaken until the districts think it's time to rebel themselves. Maybe the Capitol citizens will become aware of the evils of the Hunger Games and bring it to a stop.

But whatever happens, it won't be soon. It won't affect me. I'll be long dead—one way or the other—by the time change comes. So, right now, I only need to worry about right now. My life. It may be insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it's significant right now.

And I plan on keeping it.


	37. Together

Author's Note: Fehe, we're SO close to 150 reviews! *giggle spasms*

For the competition, as of now: In first place, with 36 reviews, are Axxi and Obiwanlivesforever. In second place, with 34 reviews, is PRUSSIAisAWESOME. (Not currently in the running but shortly behind is Pceluvmusicart, with 30 reviews.) Cutoff for the competition is at the 150th review.

Recommended Listening: What's Going to Happen from Scrubs: My Musical

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Sve Oxenstierna, District 11

It looks like things didn't work out so badly after all. Finni is injured and in pain, which I despise but can't do much about, but she's not dying. The bleeding has more or less stopped, and she's able to climb.

That doesn't mean I let her most of the time, of course. She stays riding piggyback whenever we're transversing the flatter parts of the mountain. I have to let her climb for herself when things get steep, but I always stay right next to her. Even if I have to take more damage like before, she will not fall to her death.

I stay close as the grade forces her to climb on her own. Her breathing gets heavier from the combination of blood loss and the excursion, but it's only a minute before I instruct her to get back on my back. Her panting is partially blocked by my own now; while I'm not weak, it's no picnic navigating a mountainside whilst carrying a human.

The rocks grow steeper again, and I'm forced to set her back down to climb by herself. Following very closely, I notice the short ride wasn't enough for her to regain her breath. She's still panting pretty hard.

She shouldn't have to keep going in this condition. But the Careers want to keep on. I've bossed them around enough for one day. They're still dangerous, and I don't want to take chances by assuming control for long. I'm staying here for their protection, and the last thing I want to do is tell them we're stopping. They'll either kick us out or kill us right here and now. And I will not let that happen.

Finni finishes clambering over and once again resumes the piggyback position. Her breathing is much louder than mine now.

"Are you okay?" I ask quietly, craning my neck to look concernedly into her face.

"Yeah," she gasps, averting her gaze. "Just... Just out of... breath."

Her grip around me doesn't falter, and she doesn't seem to be suffering otherwise, so I trust her.

But as we continue, her breathing continues to escalate, and I finally let myself stop and set her back against the mountain. The Careers stop in front of us, Ania narrowing her eyes.

"We're taking a break," I inform them. "You can go on if you want, but we're staying."

Ania shrugs and keeps walking, pushing her district partner out of the way to take the lead. Rome hesitates, but clambers after her.

I turn back to Finni, who's still gasping for breath.

"What's wrong?" I question out loud, although I don't think she knows any more than I do. Unable to say anything, Finni just shakes her head.

I look down at her bandage for the answer. She hasn't relapsed into bleeding, and there's no way an infection could have settled in that fast.

And then I notice a bright yellow stain at the edge of the blood splotch.

Venom.

I immediately snap my gaze up to the skies. "Sponsors!" I shout. "Antivenin!" Nothing falls immediately, so I turn my attention back to my love, putting my hands on her shoulders.

"You're going to be okay." I grip her shoulders tightly. "Just calm down. Breathe." She stops a bit and tries to inhale deeply, but only manages to choke down a little air.

I look back around, but we still have no donations. Rome and Ania, however, have stopped in their exodus to look on. Gritting my teeth, I turn back to Finni. She's hunching over a little, still fighting for breath, and I realise for the first time she could really die here.

I squeeze my fingers tighter to her. "Don't die," I say, my voice coming out more of a growl than I want it to. "I need you to not die!"

Finni doesn't respond; I vaguely notice her breaths becoming shallower.

"Don't die!" I command again, fighting to keep myself from screaming. "I need you, Finni!"

She finally says something, but it's divided with so many breaths it takes me a minute to figure out exactly what it is. "I'm sorry."

"No!" I respond, gripping tighter, too frantic to realise I may be hurting her. "Don't die! Don't die, don't die, don't—!"

A cannon fires, cutting me off.

I stare blankly at the girl who isn't breathing. Her eyes are staring downward, stretched wide in terror, and the only way I can force myself to let her go is to close them. I pull back a bit, and the hovercraft claw comes and takes her away. Staring blankly at the empty space in front of me, I notice the silent figures of the Careers, still to my right, and turn to face them. They're both looking at me, not sure what to expect.

I stand up slowly, still facing them, and meet their gazes for a minute.

And then I turn and walk away.

**Fronce Foybon, District 6**

"All I'm saying," I continue, "is that there is a very good reason why no one touched the second box of 'goodies' you brought to the workplace."

Igris crosses his arms. "My mother baked those, actually."

"Everyone saw you bringing it, I guess," I respond. "And they were all scarred from your cooking because of that sorry attempt at spaghetti." I shake my head. "Motor oil, Igris? I don't know how you can even claim to be a cook."

Igris leans back with an exasperated sigh. "Will you quit bringing up that _one _incident? I've cooked plenty of things that have turned out well."

"Name one."

He doesn't respond, and I think I've won this one until he stands up slowly, not looking at me.

"Igris?" I respond slowly, following his line of sight.

Another tribute has entered the far end of the crater and is splashing through the shallows. He looks up at us for a second, apparently only just now noticing we're here. "Hey," he greets unenthusiastically before turning back to whatever he's doing. I realise he's dipping a glove, horrifyingly soaked in blood, into the water.

"Hello," my ally responds, putting a hand lightly on the handle of his rapier. "And what might you be doing here?"

"Washing things," answers the boy, not looking up.

"Is that so?" Igris takes a few steps toward the shore. "Would you happen to be interested in killing us, or would you prefer to be allies?"

The tribute looks up from his business and laughs like he's about to start crying. "Well, considering all of my allies end up dying, that's probably not the best path for you all."

"That wasn't the question," Igris responds. "But I take it you would rather be allies?"

"Igris!" I hiss at him, running over with my feet slipping a bit in the sand. "Why would you want to ally with him?" I whisper harshly in his ear. "Didn't you see his glove? He's dangerous!"

"Your buddy's right," the tribute responds, wringing out his glove a little and dipping it back in the water. Apparently I wasn't being as quiet as I thought. "I've killed two people. One of them by ripping out his guts until he bled to death." I shudder, but Igris doesn't respond. "I'm a monster, and you should really avoid me if you don't want to end up dead."

"But you feel bad about killing them?" Igris clarifies.

The boy stares back. "Of course I do."

"All right. We're allies," Igris decides, letting go of his rapier handle.

I stare. "What?"

The other tribute is just as confused as me, but he doesn't say anything. Eventually he shakes his head. "All right. But don't say I didn't warn you," he finishes darkly, scrubbing the last of the crimson from his glove.


	38. Isolation

Recommended Listening: Ask the Lonely by Journey

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**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

Our alliance has a good supper. We still have our donations from earlier, coupled with a basket of five apples Amer brought along with him. Fronce even had the great idea—which I assure you are few and far between with him—to roast an apple, so that ended up being quite a treat.

We'll have stricter rationing tomorrow and so on, especially since we have three to take care of, but we still have our sponsors. Sponsors for three, at this point.

Admittedly, taking on Amer as an ally is a bit of a gamble, but he's strong, he has a weapon, he doesn't complain or do idiotic things like a certain _other _member of the alliance, and more people as allies is more people to counter the Careers. It's also more mouths to feed, and I really don't know Amer yet, but, you know, win some, lose some.

The sun—we apparently have a sun now—is setting, and none of us is particularly cold, so we put out our little fire to avoid detection.

The sunset's actually quite nice, and I suspect it's supposed to mimic a real sunset. Odd to think they'd up and put a sunset here, though. The Gamemakers tend to avoid putting anything remotely lovely in the Games. After all, they don't want us to be happy. Right now, they're probably just trying to lure us into false comfort or something. Call me a pessimist, but that's how things work around here.

Soon enough, the sunset has disappeared, and the seal of Panem appears in the sky. The second this happens, I catch Amer snapping his gaze back down to his feet.

"Do you not want to see who we have left to deal with?" I ask him. He mumbles something I can't quite pick out, and then looks up at me for a second.

"I just really don't want to look, okay?"

"Ah. Should I just tell you, then?"

"No," he answers immediately before looking back down.

Well, as far as I know, there's only one reason a tribute wouldn't want to see who died that day. And that's because someone they didn't want to die is up there.

He said he's killed people. Is it just regret that drives him to this? Or was there someone he was close to?

Ah. That must be it. If my memory holds, I recall him being quite the energetic one back in training and interviews. He asked practically everyone to be allies. So there's only one thing that could keep him so averse to allying with us.

His ally died.

I look up at the sky. Many faces are there tonight. A lot I don't recognise. One boy I know is from 7, but I can't recall his name. Vahn from 9 is there. The girl from 11 who was always being obsessed over by her district partner appears. The last is the trembling boy, apparently from 12.

Then the anthem dies.

"Amer," I finally say, "you're afraid to be friends with us, aren't you?"

He gives a start. "What you mean?"

"I mean, you don't want to let yourself get too close to us," I clarify. "That's why you've been so withdrawn."

He looks at his hands for a moment, then says very quietly, "Yeah."

"Well, I'll tell you what," I respond, crossing my legs. "Do you like being a loner?"

"No."

"Does it make you miserable?"

"Yes."

"Then don't be a loner." He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "It's not going to help you in the end. You're already acquainted with us. We're already human beings to you, and vice versa. If we die before you, you'll be unhappy either way. So why would you make yourself so miserable now?"

The conviction on his face seems to fade with every sentence, and by the time I'm finished, he's speechless. Amer just shakes his head.

"I'll figure it out," he mutters, standing up. "In the meantime, how about I take first watch?"

**Natalya Larus, District 9**

The moon is suspended just about the horizon. It's all I can see from here, lying on my side, a few roots poking my shoulder. It's not comfortable.

I don't want to get up. I don't feel like it. I don't feel like doing much of anything. There's no reason to do anything. Vahn is dead. We will never be married. I will never even see him again. My reason for living is completely gone.

Yet I can't quite give up entirely. I have a knife. But something keeps me from slicing my wrists open. I don't know what.

It doesn't matter, anyway. If I just lie here, I'll end up dying. Probably for want of food.

Or perhaps the Gamemakers will get bored and send something my way. If that's the case, I hope it's Amer. It would be kind of nice to die the same way as my brother… There's something oddly romantic about it.

Yes, I would rather have Amer kill me than the other way around. What's the point of seeking vengeance? Vahn is dead. Killing his murderer isn't going to change that. His sister becoming a murderer isn't going to honour his memory. I couldn't do it, anyway. I have no drive. My only purpose has been to marry Vahn. And, no matter what happens to me or Amer, the wedding will not happen.

So I have nothing left. I'm going to die here. And I honestly don't mind at all.

I hear roots crunch.

Sliding my eyes down a bit from the moon's glow, I pick out a figure entering the crater. I don't recognise him. I wasn't paying attention to much of anyone before the Games.

But I can assume this tribute is out to kill me.

Something about this fact makes me draw my knife protectively. The newcomer halts, gripping what looks like a sword hilt and removing the weapon. Without making a move, we lock gazes.

His eyes are blue. Like my brother's. Not the same shade, though. Not nearly as beautiful.

We stay poised for a moment, neither budging, until I finally realise what I'm doing.

With a shaky hand, I toss my knife to the side, embedding it in the roots nowhere near the approacher.

"Go ahead," I say blankly, my voice dry and crackly. "Kill me. I have nothing left to live for, anyway."

The newcomer finally steps over, and I close my eyes. Looks like I won't die in the same way as Vahn. Oh, well. I don't really care.

The sound of shifting roots stops near my head, and I hold my breath. But a minute or so passes, and still no bite of steel. I unclose my eyes.

The tribute has seated himself next to me, his sword sheathed. I consider asking him why he didn't kill me, but my throat is too parched for me to get anything else out.

"Your brother," he says, meeting my gaze.

For a moment I'm not sure what he means, but the death toll left the sky long ago. He knows Vahn is dead as much as I do.

I nod in reply.

He scoots closer and lifts me a bit so I'm sitting as well. Not having the energy to sit up straight, I end up leaning against his shoulder.

He's looking back into the sky when he utters his next incomplete phrase. "Finni, too."

Finni… Sounds familiar… I suppose this tribute means she's gone, too. Was she from the same district as him? I don't remember. They probably knew each other.

…Judging from the sheen of his cheeks, he must have known her. Maybe he loved her.

If that's the case, we're in the same boat, aren't we? Left loveless and empty… Hollow… Sad…

I find myself letting my head rest on his shoulder as well. He ends up putting his arm over my own shoulder comfortingly.

But it just reminds me how Vahn can never do that. He can never touch me again.

And just when I think I've finally cried myself out, tears start flowing once more.

The stranger squeezes a little tighter, and somehow I end up turning and burying my face in his shirt.

I hate this. I shouldn't be doing this. No one should be allowed to comfort me but Vahn. No one. But he can't. He's not here. He's dead and gone.

And I—I don't know. I just need him so much, but he can't be here.

So, maybe, just for now, I'll work with this stranger. He's not Vahn, and he'll never be Vahn. But I just need somebody. And maybe he does, too.

I finally run out of tears, and, with a shuddering breath, I remove myself from the folds of his clothing and go back to leaning on his shoulder.

And it occurs to me somewhat that he must be the exact same height as my brother.


	39. Dirty Little Secret

Author's Note: Congratulations, everyone! We made it to 150 reviews!

*has a brief gigglespasm at the high number before clearing her throat*

Since the cutoff was at the 150th review, our first place winner is Axxi, and our second place winner is Obiwanlivesforever! I'll PM you with the requirements for your story requests~

For the reviewers who didn't win: if you're a mass reviewer, I still love you so much and you always make my day. Even those who have only reviewed a few times, I love you.

So, please keep reviewing! Ah, and if you have time, I've put up an updated poll. Have fun!

Recommended Listening: Hold The Line by Toto

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**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

"Is it just me, or has the jungle gotten a lot hotter overnight?"

Pausing mid-bite, I turn to look at my district partner. "Well, I'm pretty sure you're not having a hot flash, if that's what you're worried about."

Spain laughs, like he actually found that funny. "No..." He rubs his forearm across his forehead. "But, really. You're a little warm, too, right?"

"Yeah," I admit, finishing my jerky breakfast. It's definitely gotten a lot hotter since last night, and we've both taken off our jumpers long ago. The Gamemakers have been known to alter the temperature, so I'm not surprised.

Spain sighs, wiping another layer of sweat away with his palm. "They're trying to force us out, aren't they?"

"Duh." I poke through my remaining jerky stash. "But we're staying here. It's too dangerous everywhere else."

"And getting stalked by giant cats isn't dangerous?" he retorts sarcastically, shaking his head.

"That's not what I mean," I pout, rolling the bag of meat strips back up.

"Ah!"

I look back over at Spain, who's suddenly gripping his stomach, continuing to make stifled sounds of pain.

" 'Sup?" I ask.

"Cramp," he answers through gritted teeth. It's about a minute before he can finally sit back straight.

"We seriously need to get out of here," he decides, getting to his feet.

"What?" I respond.

"Lovi, I think I'm about to get heatstroke or something," he says, leaning back to stretch his torso and wincing. "We don't have a source of water here, anyway... And if we keep sweating at this rate, we'll get dehydrated quick."

"I don't want to leave!" I reiterate stubbornly.

"Lovi..." He sighs. "Just... Come on, we're getting out of here."

"Are not!"

Spain shakes his head, plucking the front of his shirt to get a little wind through it. I wonder briefly why he bothers to keep it on when he's apparently burning up so much, but considering he's never struck me as bright, I decide he's just being stupid again.

"At least, _I'm _leaving. I really want you to come with me, but if you want to stay that badly, I can't do much about it," he finally says, pushing aside a tree branch and walking off.

"H-Hey!" I finally get to my feet and scamper after him. "You can't just leave me here!"

"I'm not trying to leave you here," he responds.

I splutter. "Well—f-fine! I'm coming."

"Thought so," he responds, pushing a branch up so I can follow him.

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

I'm really glad we've finally gotten out of that roasting oven of a jungle, but I have no idea where we're going now.

There aren't that many tributes left, so it's still pretty unlikely we'll run into one soon, but... I'm still a little paranoid. We'll just keep moving until we get to a safe crater, I guess.

No sooner have I concluded this than a peal of thunder blasts.

Lovi jerks in surprise just before rain suddenly starts to fall in sheets. Icy, icy rain. Lovely, lovely, freezing, wonderfully cold rain.

"So _now _they make things cool down!" I breathe, spreading my arms out to embrace the precipitation.

"It's _freezing_!" Lovi complains, although I can tell she's almost as overheated as me. I guess she just doesn't like to enjoy things.

"Aw, lighten up! You know it feels nice," I sigh, leaning back against the mountainside. With a humph, Lovi joins me.

Not much of a reason to keep climbing now, after all. The rocks are going to be slick, and we might slip, and isn't it just so pleasant we have to relish it?

"Spain?"

I close my eyes, relaxed. "Yeah, Lovi?"

"Would you have really left me behind?"

I reopen my eyes to look over at my district partner, who is currently staring down at her shoes.

"Well... no, I don't think so."

"Why?"

I blink, meeting her eye level even though she hasn't looked up. "Because we're allies?" I respond quizzically. "And allies don't leave each other behind. They protect each other."

"How long are you going to keep protecting me?"

She's finally stopped gazing at her shoes, so I can look her in the eye. "As long as I can, I guess."

"Until it's just us," she concludes, turning her head away again.

"No," I respond immediately, shaking my head. "It's definitely not like that." I sigh, looking downward myself. "I'm not going to win this, Lovi."

"Why not? It'd be easy."

I keep shaking my head, flinging a few raindrops out of my hair. "It's not that I want to die or anything. I just... I'm not going to do it. No matter what the Capitol wants, I'm not going to kill anyone else."

Lovi turns and stares bug-eyed, and it takes me a second to realise what I've just said.

"_Else_?" she echoes incredulously. "You—you—you killed someone before?" she squeaks.

I put my hands up in front of me. "No! I-I mean—I—Well..." I groan, bonking my head against the rocks as punishment for my stupidity. "Y-Yeah... Kind of..." Lovi's expression morphs from more startled to more horrified. "It was an accident!" I respond defensively. "I mean..." I sigh frustratedly, thunking my skull against the mountain again.

After a moment of silence, my thoroughly terrified ally asks, "Wh-wh-what happened?"

I rub the bridge of my nose tiredly, the refreshing rainfall practically forgotten. "Her name was Aztinca. We worked in the same factory, although we didn't see each other much until I was moved to her building." I exhale. "That was a little over a year ago. Almost right after the Games." I pause again, looking away so I don't have to see Lovi's frightened face. "And... Well, for some reason, she decided to mouth off about my sister's death, saying how stupid it was for her last words to be about a heaven that doesn't exist, and..." I realise I'm gritting my teeth, and I hastily decide to spare the details. "She made me mad, and I... kind of... went crazy and strangled her," I finish quickly. "But I swear it was an accident. I'd never mean to kill a person, all right? Admittedly, I lose it when I get angry, but..." I trail off with a sigh.

Preparing for the worst, I look back up at Lovi.

She's just staring at me, stunned, mouth hanging open a little, for what seems like a solid minute.

And then it finally seems to sink in.

"I'm gonna die!" she wails. "I alllied with a murderer, and I'm gonna die...!"

"No, Lovi, Lovi!" I try to throw a comforting arm around her, but she flinches away. "I'm not going to kill you! I have to get really angry to even think about that, and I can tell you it's really, really, _really_ hard to make me angry, okay? You're perfectly safe!"

"That does it—I'm leaving!" she announces, stressed out, and putting a hand to a nearby jutting rock. "I don't want to be around a—a..." She doesn't finish the sentence, and she fails to flee easily over the slick rock.

I get an arm around her to stop her, but she still struggles.

And, despite myself, I decide to have a little fun.

I grip her tighter, pulling her ear close to my mouth.

"You know," I whisper, "you running away would make me _mad_."

—And she promptly bursts into tears.

"Aw—aw, come on, Lovi," I start, suppressing a sigh. I didn't want to make her _cry_... She still struggles to escape, but I have a solid hold on her. "Lovi... I... I was joking, okay? Don't be so worried."

She sniffles. "About the whole thing?"

I hesitate. Well, no, but... "Y-Yeah. About the whole thing."

I release her, and she turns around to promptly sock me in the stomach. I double over a little.

"You're _mean_!" she screams, crossing her arms and refusing to face me.

"Yeah... Kind of," I cough.


	40. Fire and Rain

Recommended Listening: Happy To Give by Journey

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**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

Ice-cold rain does not feel pleasant pounding on a burn wound.

Actually, nothing about my burn wound feels pleasant. I got some medicine donated, thankfully, but it's doing a lot more in the healing area than the stopping-it-from-hurting area. This'll work out better in the end, I know, but my arm _really_ hurts.

Things aren't looking all that peachy otherwise, either. I have nothing to protect me from the rain other than my jacket's cloth hood and some rather heavy backpacks. I didn't grab any umbrellas or anything because I was a lot more concerned about food, water, and medical supplies.

I don't have to worry about water right now, that's for sure. It's coming down in buckets, and I can't see enough to climb around.

Not that I could, anyway. The mountainside's too slippery for me to do anything but curl up and hope no one finds me. I _had _to lose my shelter right before the rainstorm, didn't I? I guess the Capitol must find my sudden burst of bad luck amusing.

Or, I'm assuming it's luck. The volcano blast was definitely aimed at me, since the crater was put too far down on the mountain to do damage elsewhere. The rain, though? It could be for anyone and everyone. And it probably is. Just to spice things up a little, I guess.

I squint as more raindrops barrage my eyes and put a hand by my forehead to protect them. Worst of all of this, I'll have to take watch, since all of this water pounding on the rocks will keep me from hearing anything sneaking up on me.

Although it would definitely be hard for anyone to sneak up on me here. More likely, they'd try, slip, and skid down and crash into me. In which case, I'll have my weapon ready to dig in.

So, things aren't great right now, but they're not too awfully bad.

We'll just have to see what happens next.

**Sve Oxenstierna, District 11**

Raindrops stream off the leaves of the tree into puddles surrounding us.

Natalya's sipping some rainwater I collected in my sword sheath. It's her second refill; the first I brought over was downed within seconds. She must not have had a lot to drink. Or eat, considering how worn down she looks.

She finishes up the water I brought, and I silently take the makeshift cup to fill it up again.

The rain's let up a little, but visibility is still low. The Careers won't be able to do much hunting today.

Just before water starts to slosh out of the sheath, I pull my arm back under the shadow the the tree and return to the trunk, where I propped Natalya up.

I wonder briefly why exactly I'm helping her. We've never met. She could easily be a murderer. But somehow I strongly doubt she would kill me. It's as if our mirroring sorrows have created a base for strong trust. Both of our loved ones have been taken away. We're the same.

And I guess we're willing to trust ourselves.

I hand the steel canteen to this other me and seat myself next to her as she drinks. She instinctively starts to lean on me, and I hold no objection.

"What was your name again?" she says softly, so unlike her tone before the Games the voice is hardly recognisable as hers.

"Sve."

"Sve," she repeats, nodding a bit to herself before taking another drink from the sheath. "So…" Her voice drops to almost a whisper. "Who was Finni?"

The past tense of the question makes me cringe a bit, but I'm able to stop myself from reacting any more than that.

"She i—was my love," I mutter, putting my arms around my knees and staring out at the rain.

"How is it, living without her?" Natalya continues softly.

A more than wistful feeling stabs through my chest. "Painful," I answer simply.

"Yeah?" Natalya takes another slow sip from the water holder. "Do you… _want _to keep living without her?"

I close my eyes. "No."

Natalya shuffles a little closer to me. "We're more similar than I thought."

I just nod, not opening my eyes. I don't want to look at anything. Everything reminds me of her. The sword I protected her with. The jacket I laid over her shoulders when she was cold. Even the arms I always wrapped around her.

But when I can't see any of these, I can almost pretend nothing happened. That she's still here, that she's the one leaning softly against my side.

I perceive a hand brushing up against mine, and thoughtlessly entwine the fingers there with my own. The hand doesn't react, and neither do I.

And so we stay, silent, the rain drumming against the mountain in its own little symphony.

"You know what?"

I lazily reopen my eyes. Whatever illusion I was letting myself partake in is broken by her voice.

"What?"

"I hate the Capitol," she says simply.

I nod. The Capitol's what took Finni from me. Her murderer was even its own creation.

"You know what we should do?" I mumble, leaning my head against hers a bit.

"What's that?"

"Win together." She slightly raises an eyebrow, and I continue. "And when it's just us, we kill ourselves. No Victor. Bet the Capitol wouldn't like that."

"They wouldn't," she agrees dully, taking another sip of her water. "But as long as I end up dead, I don't really care what the Capitol thinks."

I look at her. "Would you do it for me?"

She meets my gaze, her eyes still without a light behind them. "Yeah. I would."

The faintest semblance of a smile meets my lips. It's kind of nice how, even with our lives destroyed and our deaths imminent, we're still willing to give.

A lightning bolt suddenly slams into the roots metres away.

Natalya, despite her apathy, jumps, and I can't say I go without flinching, either. I start to make myself calm down, putting an arm over Natalya's shoulders to help her along, when I make out the smoke.

Our tree is on fire.

No sooner have I discerned the flames eating the roots than they spread sideways. In an unnaturally circular path, the fire forms a second border to the crater. The flames steadily approach the trunk.

Natalya, not heeding the threat much, just stares blankly into the fire, which is untempered by the easing rainfall. I, however, start to stand, pulling her hand up a ways in doing so. She turns to gaze at her hand and then me for a moment before slowly rising herself.

"I guess the Capitol doesn't like that plan much," she comments, voice dry again.

The ring of fire encroaches, turning the air uncomfortably warm.

"Let's climb," I say.

Natalya looks at me, not understanding why, but nods.

I go around quickly, her trailing behind, until I find the lowest branch of the tree. It's a little higher than my head, but I can pull myself onto it. Wrapping my legs around some further-back, thicker branches, I swing down, extending a hand to Natalya. She fastens her hand to mine, and, with a little bit of a struggle, I pull her up beside me.

The fire's about a metre away from the trunk at this point.

Natalya and I go ahead and keep climbing—the branches are all clustered conveniently, so it's not hard—and within a half minute, we're straddling the highest branches.

The fire's almost to the trunk now. I feel like I had some hope of it burning lopsided so we could jump off and escape, but the trunk is as round as the ring closing in on it. It will all burn, and then we will.

"And here I was hoping we could choose how we wanted to die," Natalya mumbles, leaning her head on my shoulder.

I was, too. But the Capitol doesn't want us to beat it. And it has the power to prevent that from happening.

So we won't get to die how we decided to. The Gamemakers have taken away our choice.

I gaze down at the flames, which are beginning to lick the bottom of the trunk, before I turn back to face Natalya.

"We can still choose when."

She blinks at me, taking a moment to understand, before regarding the flames. "Yeah," she slowly agrees. She turns back toward me. "We can."

We sit for a second before I finally lead her closer to the edge of the tree. I can feel a slight shift underneath me, but ignore it. I stare out into the flames instead.

So this is how it ends. I failed Finni. I failed myself. But I don't have to fail Natalya.

We exchange glances, and I take her hand. She squeezes back, and we both turn our gazes back to the flames.

"On three," I announce, my voice a little dry. "One..."

Natalya takes a deep breath, and I squeeze her hand.

"Two..."

I close my eyes and prepare to jump.

"Three," Natalya whispers.

We jump, falling into the fire and the peace beyond.


	41. Dilemma

Recommended Listening: Should I Stay Or Should I Go by The Clash

* * *

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

"I can't understand a word you're saying!"

Amer pauses at my remark, taking a moment to chew his food.

"Sorry," he responds, voice muffled since his mouth still isn't completely clear of apple fragments.

I suppress a sigh. While it's certainly nice to see him acting less depressed, the cons are slowly starting to outweigh the pros. Now that he's being himself again, he's overenthusiastic, he's over-authoritative, his lack of intelligence is showing more and more, and between him and Fronce, I think I may end up the Hunger Games' first to be annoyed to death.

He seemed so tame and well-mannered at first, but I guess it must have just been fear. Tsk.

By no means am I going to boot him from the alliance, but I can't help regretting letting him in. Either he's hyperactive or he's horribly depressed. There's not really a middle ground with him.

Fronce is taking to him much, either. If I ask, he'll say he is, just to make a point of how much friendlier he is than me or something. But he and Amer are getting into about as many—not heated, granted—arguments as Amer and me.

We just don't click. Any of us. Fronce and Amer are pests to me, Fronce just enjoys not getting along with the both of us, and Amer doesn't seem to understand why we haven't instantly become a well-knit, getting-along, holding-hands-and-singing-kumbaya group with him as head.

But in whatever case, we survived the rainfall—the majority of our crater is flooded now, but there's still enough sand to seat the three of us—and, if not each other's presence, we're at least enjoying supper. A late supper, since we had to find some more firewood from the edge of the pine forest, but supper nonetheless. Amer has already determined he would rather eat Fronce's cooking than mine—I bet Fronce talked him into it—but I do offer him some tea.

If you could call it tea. Since I've long run out of what tea the sponsors had sent—something, of course, Fronce had to bug me about—I've resulted to sticking pine needles in a cup of water and boiling it. Admittedly not the best blend, but not much I can do about it.

Amer, making an attempt to be friends, accepts the offer. I hand over the cup, and he takes a hesitant sip. He immediately spits it back out, barely missing the cup.

"I am _not _drinking that," he splutters, wiping off his mouth. "That tastes horrible! Why are you trying to down it?"

I take the cup back from him and look down into the drink. "It's the closest thing to tea I can get here," I sigh, avoiding his surely-confused gaze. "And I can't remember where I saw this, but I'm pretty sure this stuff is a good source of Vitamin C."

Amer looks at me for a second, and then perks up. "Oh, joy!" he pipes, overenthusiastic to the point of sarcasm. "We won't get _scurvy_!"

I glare. "You _want _to get scurvy?"

Fronce laughs, pitching in, "I don't think we'll be in here long enough to get scurvy."

I narrow my eyes at the other blonde. "Go die, Fronce."

Amer immediately stops looking energetic and stares at me.

"…What?" I finally respond.

"How could you _say _something like that?" he asks, voice quieted by shock.

I meet his gaze confusedly for a moment before I can recall exactly what had offended him.

"Oh, that?" I respond, taking another sip of my brew. "Well… We say that kind of thing to each other all the time. It's kind of… lost all meaning."

Amer looks down for a minute. "Okay, just… don't say that around me, all right?"

"I'll try," I respond slowly, simultaneously relishing his quietness and regretting making him so dispirited. "It's kind of automatic, though…"

"Well, just… don't say it," Amer repeats, crossing his arms uncomfortably.

"Right."

**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

Am I really going to do this?

My hands waver unsteadily, making the hammer bob back and forth with them.

I look down at my sleeping ally. He's just lying comfortably on his side and snoring a little. Completely unsuspecting. It would be beyond easy to finish him off right now.

I shift my weight more toward my right foot and continue to stare down at his face.

I don't feel like I can really do this, but I _have _to. I saw the recaps. Two more are gone; we're in the final eight. I can't just keep letting Spain carrying me until he has to kill me himself.

Because I know he can. While I'm definitely not a weakling, at all, by any definition whatsoever, he got a training score of 10. He's older than everyone else here and stronger than most of them. He could easily take me out if I don't do this.

And I know he said he wouldn't, but... He's a _murderer_! He killed a person before, and I don't see why he wouldn't do it again! Every second I spend with him is just another second of putting my life in danger.

I take a shaky breath, standing squarely so the hammer is poised directly above his temple.

I have to do this. Like I said, it's the final eight already, things are starting to wrap up, and now might be my only chance. If I want to go home, I'll have to kill him one way or another, so why not now? He's asleep, he'll never know what hit him, and I'll never have to be scared of him anymore.

—Did I just say I was scared? Well, no, I'm not. I don't get scared. I never get scared of anything, and—

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm scared out of my _mind _right now. I need to kill him, I have to kill him, but I can't do it! I just—I just—I just want to get out of here. I don't want to kill anyone. I definitely don't want to kill Spain, because he's protected me so far, and... I think he's the only person who's kind of... liked me.

People don't like putting up with me. I don't know why. They attempt to be friendly, but I just end up pushing them away. And now, when someone finally steps up to care about me, I try to _kill _him!

What am I doing, what am I _doing_? I can't kill him!

B-But I have to! I have to if I want to survive!

But if I kill him, he can't protect me from the Careers!

But if I don't kill him, he can kill me!

I don't know! I don't know, I don't know, I don't know—!

Spain suddenly shifts underneath me.

"Ah!" I jump, and in my panic I don't realise I've inadvertently dropped the hammer until it thonks him in the head.

He's immediately awake and immediately in pain.

I draw back in fear as he opens his eyes a bit but summarily winces. He said it was hard to make him mad, but I'd be pretty mad if someone hit me over the head with a solid object—!

His breathing is loud but restrained, like he's trying not to scream. After a moment, he starts to roll over toward me, and I do my best to stop cowering and put on my normal expression.

Spain takes a minute, scrutinises me and the hammer by his head, and slowly starts to sit up.

I barely manage to suppress a whimper, although I'm not sure how I'm hoping to fool him when frenzied tears are still streaming down my face.

"Lovi...?" He puts a hand to his injury, but immediately cries out in pain and takes it away. "What... What's this all about?"

I stammer. "I—I—I mean, you—you were—"

"Is this about that making me mad thing?" he interrupts slowly and quietly, like it would hurt to talk too loudly. "Listen, I'm sorry. I don't... I don't think that was funny, and I have no idea why I even thought it would be. I guess I'm just going a little stir-crazy..." He visibly grits his teeth. "I definitely deserved that, but... _Ow_!" He winces again while I try to ignore the blood trickling from the place of impact.

And I get the sudden urge to apologise. No, you don't deserve this! You've been really nice to me, and I can't blame you for needing a little fun, and—and...

But the words freeze in my throat, and it's all I can do to to stop crying when he tells me to go ahead and sleep.


	42. Take It Or Leave It

Recommended Listening: Burning Down the House by Talking Heads

* * *

**Ania Jerume, District 1**

We've officially lost favour with the Capitol.

I say this not only because the rain soaked through half of our supplies and rendered them useless, but also because they thought it would be interesting right about now to send a load of boulders tumbling down toward us.

So we're forced to either flee, trying not to lose footing on the rain-covered mountainside, or do the even dumber thing on slippery ground: attempt to stop the boulders from crushing us with nothing but our bare hands.

Guess which option my ally chose.

Option number two, of course. Because he's _that _much of a genius.

And, since he'll obviously get trampled by the things if he only does it by himself, I have to help.

_Why _did he have to save me in training? Correction: why did _he _have to save me in training? I still owe him for that, so I can't let myself just go off now and leave him to die.

This is beyond annoying. Both the situation and my district partner. But there's not much I can do about it.

So here I am, _really _hoping the pairs of rocks I've wedged my feet between won't give, taking a smaller rock's impact with both forearms and sending it wobbling away to the side. Rome's beside me, stopping one of the heavier boulders with his palms—I am _not _going to tend to it if and when he breaks his wrists—and shoving it so hard it tumbles metres to his side before gravity wins and pulls it down the mountain.

I have to admit, all the muscle on him isn't just for show, as much as his antics may make them seem. That last boulder probably weighed more than me, and his arms didn't give the slightest bit when the rock rammed into him.

I wonder briefly is this is why he wanted to take on the oncoming boulders. To show the sponsors that, even though he hasn't scored a kill yet, he deserved his 10.

But it doesn't seem that likely that there's a method to his madness. It's much more likely that he's just showing off to show off.

Or he's trying to impress me. While I definitely can't say he didn't hit on me in the Training Centre, he's been going overboard here. Of course, he usually spreads his flirtatious affections around to dozens of girls at once—and I have no idea how they don't seem to mind—and, right now, I'm the only one here. So I'm getting, what, ten, twenty times the normal dose? Yech.

The rocks continue to bombard us, but there seems to be more of a stream of them than everything coming at once. Maybe the Gamemakers decided this was too interesting to watch to just kill us in the middle of it.

Who knows? I'm just going to keep this up and hope our luck doesn't run out.

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

I sit back up, brushing some more ash from my side. Of course, if we stay in this crater, the one that used to have a tree, we're never going to quite get our clothes clean, but I don't mind. It may not have any cover right now, but it's at least more comfortable than sitting on a bunch of jagged rocks.

I guess we can't really stay here. We might still have some food now, but it's not much. Our sponsors have stopped sending us water, so we'll have to find that ourselves.

Well, that last bit isn't much of a problem right now. There's plenty of rainwater in puddles all over the place, and while I can't guarantee they're still clean, we can't drink much of any water here without risk, anyway.

Food, though. Lovi's already decimated her beef jerky, and we only have two tomatoes left.

We could always try the jungle again. Even if it's still sweltering, I could probably find some critter before I get heatstroke.

Well, no time like the present.

"Lovi? Are you awake?" I call quietly—my voice still pounds around in my head no matter how softly I speak.

Lovi rolls over quickly to face me. "Yep. You ready to give me some breakfast?"

I start to roll my eyes, but the tension makes my head throb harder, and I stop midway.

"More or less. Have to catch it first," I respond, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the jungle, silhouetted by the morning sun behind it.

"Oh." Lovi sits up, sweeping some ash off her clothes with a frown. "Well, let's go ahead, then."

I get the urge to nod, but immediately drop the idea, deciding instead to just stand up with her.

A wave of dizziness slams into me, and I stumble back a little before finally standing stably.

"What's up?" Lovi asks, almost sounding worried, if she could ever sound worried.

"Just a little dizzy." I blink a few times to make the mountain stop spinning completely. "Come on, let's go."

She nods quickly and turns back around, walking to the edge of the crater. I follow for a few steps before I realise I'm listing way to the side. Hastily correcting, I go forward a little more before I'm leaning so far to the _other _side I almost fall over.

Lovi hears me stumbling and turns around. "Spain, what are you doing?" she demands. "This isn't funny!"

"No, no, I'm not… not joking," I respond, shaking my head "no" and instantly regretting it as the world starts spinning again. I stagger and fall onto my rear.

"Stop it!" Lovi responds, ostensibly still not trusting me.

"I'm not doing this on purpose," I pant, getting back to my feet slowly. I can stand all right, but I'm still wobbling a little. "Let's just… Take this slowly, okay?"

"F-Fine." She whips back around, rubbing her upper arms. I follow her one step at a time, and, although I still stumble a bit, manage not to fall again.

And then I'm to the wall. Lovi climbs up it easily, and then sits at the top and waits for me.

I throw my arms over the top, gripping the other side, and jump, pulling myself up so I land kneeling on the wall. Although the impact doesn't jar my legs much, I end up losing my balance again and falling sideways to land shoulder-first.

Despite my best efforts, I still bang just the wrong side of my head on the rock, and I swear it feels just like something's charging into my skull and bolting into my brain.

That's obviously not what's actually happening, but still.

With a groan and suppressing nausea, I lean back up, swinging my legs over the other side of the wall and putting my weight on them slowly.

Lovi's already waiting, staring at me. For the briefest of moments I think I see fear on her face, but her scowl convinces me otherwise.

My brain's just messing with me in all kinds of ways, isn't it?

**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

I poke around through my supplies drowsily. I stayed awake last night, not to mention all day because of that rainstorm, so I'm not that perky this morning. Once I down breakfast—which today is a banana and one strip of dried beef—I'm going to take a nap.

I make my way through the banana quickly. My supplies are starting to wane, and I didn't want to risk getting anything soaked, so I didn't get my three meals yesterday. I'm not going to pig out now, though. I'm too tired.

I finish up the strip of beef and curl up uncomfortably. Despite the higher-elevation, less-repulsive half of the prarie crater being covered with grass, it's not cushy, and it's still wet. The more-repulsive half, of course, isn't an option since it's covered in a brown-and-blue, revolting mess that I assume is vomit. This isn't a nice place to stay.

Of course, that's exactly why I'm staying here. Who wants to eat surrounded by the nasty smell of barf? No one. So why would the other tributes think someone would want to stay here? No reason.

So I'm pretty much safe. Not comfortable or pleased, but safe.

And in the Hunger Games, that's all that matters.


	43. Push Comes to Shove

Author's Note: Long chapter. Be aware.

Recommended Listening: Lunatic Fringe by Red Rider

* * *

**Amer Jones, District 10**

"That's all you're getting."

Still hungry, I frown at Igris.

"Seriously?" I respond. "One piece of bread for breakfast? We have plenty of food!"

"We do not!" the blonde snaps back, continuing to pack up the remains of the loaf. "There are three of us, and we have no idea how long we'll be here. We can't eat through our supplies that quickly!"

"One loaf of bread isn't all we have!" I protest. "We could just all split the rest of that one, and we wouldn't be hungry."

"I'm not hungry now," Igris brings up. "_You're _the one who wants to eat a truckful for one meal."

"Well… I bet Fronce is still hungry!" I turn toward the other in the alliance. "Aren't you, Fronce?"

"He's not," Igris responds, shaking his head.

"How do you know?" I protest, nodding at Fronce. "I say you're hungry, he says you aren't. So who's right?"

"Neither," Fronce responds, smiling.

"That's not possible!" Igirs snaps, scowling at our other ally. "It has to be one or the other, you idiot! Now just tell him you're not hungry so he'll stop complaining."

Fronce shrugs. "All right. Not hungry."

I look on in disbelief as Igris pointedly looks at me and returns to putting up the bread.

"How come you're in charge?" I demand.

"Because I said so," Igris replies, not missing a beat.

I frown. "And you're sure you don't want to even let me try leading?"

"Yes," he says, once again not missing a beat.

I cross my arms and look away. This alliance isn't working out quite as well as… other… alliances I know of…

I mean, I was immediately the leader then, and everyone was happy, so I don't see why the same getup wouldn't work again!

…Well, I guess the last getup didn't actually end that well, but…

I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be leader. We don't get along that well, but I still don't want to let anything happen to these guys. And, if relinquishing my leadership can accomplish that, well, I guess I'll do it.

I won't like it, but I'll do it.

"…didn't bother to keep any on me since I didn't think you'd do something stupid enough to injure your wrist."

I freeze, and Igris does the same. Fronce still isn't moving as the voices get louder.

"So you're going to make me climb all the way down with a broken wrist?"

"Yes! Consider it punishment for being idiotic enough to try to punch a boulder to bits!"

I register holding my breath as two figures become visible. My vision's still blurry without my glasses, but I only know one tribute with long, blonde hair. And only one tribute she would be yelling at.

The Careers are headed toward us.

My heart starts pounding hard before I can will myself to move. Dreading what might result but not daring to risk anything else, I put on my glove.

They near, Rome only contacting the mountain with his feet and left hand, Ania clambering sorely behind.

Pulse roaring in my ears, I only vaguely notice Igris getting out his rapier.

Fronce has nothing to defend himself with. Igris may be a genius with his foil, but fighting the Careers' swords with that is like attacking a trunk with a toothpick.

This is going to be up to me.

I know I can do this. I'm strong enough. I have a good weapon. And I am never going to let them hurt—my—friends!

A chill grips me when I can suddenly feel it.

I'm about to lose it.

No. _No_. I am _not _letting this happen to me again. I am not going to become that—that _monster_.

But as the Careers ostensibly notice us and start coming down faster, I can't hear anything but the scream of my quickening pulse, and I can already feel my thoughts start to fade.

Stop it, stop it, stop it! I can protect them without going crazy. I don't have to let this overwhelm me…!

Trembling from the effort, I strain to keep my mindset as the insanity gathers at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to take over any second.

I vaguely perceive an odd sound as the Careers get closer. I pause for a second before I realise the sound is growling. And it's coming from _me_. It's not even a growl of frustration or something. It is, very accurately, a growl of something inhuman.

The association frightens me, but I'm too busy trying to maintain sanity to worry about some noise I'm making. So what if I sound like a rabid animal? As long as I keep my mind, I won't _be _a monster.

The Careers finally drop down just outside the crater and get up over the wall with their swords brandished.

It takes all of my will to keep from charging in madness. I manage not to, but I'm getting worse by the second. That cold feeling is still welling up, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.

And then Rome charges for me.

I just manage to bring my gloved hand up before he can stab me through the chest. But the armour is too weak, and it buckles beneath the blow, digging into my hand. Rome strikes again, and I can't move to block. His sword rips through my shoulder, and only luck keeps it from getting straight to my heart.

The immeasurable pain sends my brain into even more of an overdrive, and I suddenly realise I don't know where Ania went.

She can't hurt them! And neither can Rome!

But I can't… fight… like this…

And then I hear Igris scream in pain.

Just like that, the dam crumbles, and my thoughts are gone.

Now there's only instinct.

**Rome Gnaeus, District 1**

This kid is crazy.

That's the first thing I thought when I noticed him twitching and growling. And it looks like I guessed correctly. While he's by no means stronger than me—_obviously—_he's actually holding his own.

That's probably because I'm having to swordfight with my left hand. I've never been quite ambidextrous, no matter how hard I tried, so my fighting's suffering.

I guess it's a bit surprising my right-handedness is contributing more to my fighting level than the pain. I mean, yeah, my wrist is broken and bleeding and doing other unhealthy things, but I can't really feel it much. Not much more than a paper cut, really.

On second though, paper cuts really hurt. So I'm not quite sure what to compare this to.

Well, whatever it feels like, it's not painful enough to distract me from the current battle.

The boy, from 10, I think, is glaring at me, eyelids flared, as he lunges again. With a clang, I block his glove-thing with the broad end of my sword, and he draws back a bit. I take the opportunity to swing my blade toward his shoulder, but before I can, he slashes, driving his claws through a spot dangerously close to my trachea. I step back unwittingly, and he suddenly whips around, searching frantically for something. From his sudden pause in movement I guess he must have found what he was looking for—but it's already too late. I bring my sword back around, getting about a centimetre into the back of his neck before he suddenly darts away from me.

What is _with _this guy? His reflexes are superhuman!

Ah, well, can't say I don't enjoy a challenge!

I take a stride toward him before realising he's coming to the rapier-wielding 5's aid against Ania. My first thought is to join the fray, but then I notice the third member of the alliance, unarmed, wavering without knowing how he can help anything.

Well, I kind of hate to pick on defenseless people, but, eh. Might as well get rid of him before I get too beaten up.

I dart over toward him and swing for his neck. He realises my attack before I hit him and manages to dodge with only the thinnest of cuts across his neck. While he's still in mid-air from dodging, I bring my sword around again, and finally, the blade digs deep through his abdomen, slicing the right side of his torso in half.

He screams as the blood starts gushing, and I take my blade out after dragging it across the front of his stomach. He immediately crumples to the ground.

I then realise the 10 is charging for me again, shrieking like a banshee. I block his first attack easily, and his second, his third, all in impossibly quick succession. He slashes a fourth time, and I use my sword to push him back forcefully. He stumbles and falls back on his rear, but before I can dish out the finishing blow, he pounces, claws aimed straight for my throat.

And I don't expect what happens next.

"Get down!"

Before the blades rip through my throat, I'm knocked over by Ania, who in turn receives four instantly-bloody scores across her face. She recoils with a stifled scream and gets her sword a centimetre away from the 10's neck before there's suddenly a rapier point brushing against her eyelashes. She hesitates just enough for the 10 to duck under the blade and lunge for me. Having dropped my sword when Ania bowled me over, I can't protect my throat with anything but my arms. He notices my block but slashes anyway, claws digging into my forearms.

"Amer!" the rapier-holder calls sharply. Apparently this is the 10's name, because he hesitates mid-swing. Amer keeps staring at my arms and neck for a moment before meeting my eye level. Some of the wildness seems to fade from his eyes.

"We have the upper hand here," the 5 announces, gripping his sword a little tighter to remind us how easily he could shove it through Ania's eye and brain. "But we will let you go if you do not attack us."

"Flee like cowards?" I respond. "Not on my life—!" I get back on my feet, toppling Amer over, but before I can step over to regain my sword, he's upon me again, claws pricking into the side of my neck. He grits his teeth, half-panting, half-growling.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the 5 comments drily. "My friend here seems just as able to take you out as I do her." He looks at us both. "So, are you going to stay and die just to not be called cowards?" He keeps an even gaze, despite the wide slash across his back, and Ania and I exchange a glance.

Looks like we're going with the "cowards" option.


	44. Just Keep Going

Recommended Listening: Stairway To Heaven by Led Zeppelin

* * *

**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

I slurp a little water from a nearby puddle as Spain gets to work skinning the possum-ish thing he found a minute ago. Apparently the back part or—whatever you call it—of the hammer is sharp enough to be useful, so that's what he's doing. Fine with me.

"Now where did I put that wood?"

I look over at my ally, who's holding up the meat and looking around the rocks.

"It's on your left," I tell him. He stops looking around in confusion and adjusts his gaze to find the dry-ish branches by his thigh. "You literally _just _put it there."

"Did I?" he responds, stacking the wood neatly

"Yes." I cross my arms. "You're so scatterbrained."

"Guess so…" He finishes building the pile and then stares at it. "Where's that piece of flint again?"

"Here." I tap the little piece of rock with my foot and frown.

"Oh, right." He sets the rodent meat on the pile of its fur and leans over to pick up the flint. It takes a minute, since the wood's not all that dry, but he starts a fire.

"Good," he says to himself, putting the flint in his pocket. "Wait… Where'd I put the meat?"

"It's right next to you!" I snap, jabbing a finger toward the pile. He blinks and then picks it back up.

"Will you quite messing with me?" I grumble, trying to sound unworried. "It's not funny!"

He looks at me. "What? No, I'm not messing with you! I just…" He closes his eyes. "It's probably just the headache. I should be back to normal by tomorrow."

"You'd better be," I mumble, looking back down at my feet.

Holding the meat above the flames, Spain sighs and looks me in the eye. "Really, Lovi, I'm sorry for joking around like that earlier. And I swear I'm not going to do it again. If I'm acting weird, it's not to mess with you, okay?"

I make a "humph" sound and turn my back to him before he can catch me crying.

That's not what I'm worried about, bastard! I know you're not messing with me—you're too nice. I'm just scared I did something horrible and irreparable to you, and—and… If you die because of this, it'll be all my fault! I—I can't stand that!

I take a deep, shuddering breath and rub my eyes to make the crying stop before it gets too loud.

I don't care anymore—I'll admit it. I'm scared. So, so scared. I'm scared of him dying, I'm scared of him living, I'm scared of _me _dying, and… I—I just want out of here so much…

"Well, ready for breakfast, Lovi?"

I look up, turning so I can see Spain holding up the cooked meat with a grin.

I scoot closer, inhale, and respond, "Well, why'd you take so long to make it?"

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

This must be some powerful Capitol stuff, to keep Fronce from bleeding to death.

Seems odd we'd suddenly get something. My mentors haven't seemed all that keen on keeping other people in my alliance alive—likely because of District 6's lack of a coherent Victor—but it seems they've changed their minds.

The syringe empty, I get to work with the rest of the medical supplies we were sent and start suturing his wound. After a few moments of silence, Amer finally has a comment.

"You seem pretty good at that."

I cast a glance back in his direction but turn back to my work before actually seeing him.

"I did some embroidery back home," I respond, pulling the thread up through the latest set of holes. "And if you say that's girly, I'll sock you for it."

Amer doesn't respond. He's still not his cheerful self. But considering he hasn't jumped forward to help Fronce out, something else must be pestering him.

"What's eating you?" I ask quietly, continuing my work.

Amer is silent for a while before finally replying, "I couldn't stop it."

"Stop what? Rome?"

"That, too," he mutters.

"Well, you can't blame yourself for this. We weren't outnumbered, but we were against the Careers. No one would have expected _any _of us to live."

"Yeah…" he says noncommittally.

"What else is wrong?" I finally ask after I've patched up about half of Fronce's injury.

"I tried to stop it," he replies blankly, his voice almost cracking. "But I couldn't. I tried as hard as I could, but I still snapped. It's just getting worse and worse," he mumbles.

"How do you figure that?" I respond. "You just up and snapped with the other guy you killed, right?"

He hesitates, and I hear a sigh. "Guess so."

"And it looked like you held out for, what, two minutes, before you lost it this time? If you don't think that's progress, you're an idiot."

"I guess…"

We sit in silence until I finally finish sewing Fronce's abdomen back together. I keep the unconscious boy's shirt rolled up but throw his jumper over the exposed skin.

"You next?" I say, turning toward Amer and his nasty-looking shoulder wound.

"Hmm?" He lifts his head from his knees without relinquishing his grip around his folded legs."Oh, don't worry about me," he says dismissively. "Take care of yourself first."

I shrug a shoulder. "It's not exactly possible for me to sew up the slash on my back." Before he can volunteer to do it himself, I inform him we don't have enough supplies to cover the both of us.

"Okay, I'll _just _do yours, then," he decides, scooting over.

"Your wound is worse than mine," I respond, holding the kit out of his reach so he won't try to take them from me before I'm finished. "Mine could go without stitches."

He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't say it. You think this doesn't hurt?"

"Ah. You have a point." He squirms. "Well… Fine. Go ahead."

"Well, take off your shirt first," I demand, wondering vaguely what had happened to his jacket as he complies. He can't seem to quite lift the arm of his injured shoulder, so I end up having to help him. Amer casts the cloth to the side while I prepare the rest of the thread.

The second I poke into his skin, he yelps.

"Were you not expecting this to hurt?" I ask dryly.

"Yes… No… I don't know…" He manages to keep it down to a wince as I pull the thread through.

He then decides to look down at the wound as I sew. He stares blankly, saying, "Huh."

"What?"

"My shoulder's sliced open."

"Did you not notice this before?"

"I _definitely _did," he responds, still staring. "But..." He sighs. "If I had seen that kind of injury—on my own body, no less—before the Games, I probably would've been close to fainting or barfing or something. And now..." He shakes his head. "Nothing. No reaction."

"I for one am glad you're not vomiting right now."

Amer shakes his head again, this time almost with a laugh.

A while later, his shoulder is mostly sewn up—not quite all the way, since I flubbed up near the end—and I stash the curved needle in my pocket. Maybe we'll get more thread later. Probably not.

"Oh!" Amer perks up suddenly and begins madly shuffling through his pockets. I watch curiously as he pulls out a small, half-filled bottle. "Haha! We still have disinfectant!" he announces, unscrewing the lid.

"That's good," I respond a bit less enthusiastically as he hurries over to my back. I've already taken off my shirt, so he doesn't have to worry about any fibres getting the way as he dabs a soaked piece of his shirt on the wound. I wince, but manage to stay still as he finishes up.

He hurries over to Fronce and goes over his wound so energetically it's hard to believe he's the same person that was just moping about getting desensitised.

Amer ends up using the rest of the bottle on Fronce's stomach wound. I tell him off for this, of course, but he insists he doesn't need it as much.

So, Amer's back on annoying mode, Fronce is unconscious and not looking healthy, and I have a back wound I can't patch up.

The Hunger Games are not fun.


	45. Ties That Bind

Author's Note: This has 180 reviews.

...

I can't even comment on that. That's just... That's just a-bleeding-_mazing_. I love you guys so much.

Recommended Listening: The Breakup Song by The Greg Kihn Band

* * *

**Rome Gnaeus, District 1**

I pull myself into the meadow crater as Ania circles the border for a clean-looking puddle. Finally locating one, she kneels down and starts to wash out her wound, hissing in pain.

I pause in my path to the Cornucopia to watch. As she clears away the mixture of dried and fresh blood, I can see that three of the set of four slashes cut completely through her cheek.

I shudder a little. If that had gone to my neck like it was intended to, I wouldn't still be here. It looks bad enough on her face.

"I guess I should thank you for that, huh?" I start with a grin, padding back over to where Ania scrubs off the last of the rust-coloured stuff from her face.

"No need," she responds, dabbing the water away with her jacket sleeve. "Remember the first time we met, that hit you took for me? Well, we're finally even."

"That's true…" Behind her, I draw a little closer, leaning to rest my chin on her shoulder. "But you and I both know you did it because you love me."

"_Heck_ no," she spits, pulling her shoulder out from under me. She shakes her head and starts back toward the meadow.

I clamber after her. "Oh, come on, Ania!" I beg as we go over the wall. "There's no need to deny your feelings any longer!"

"_What _feelings?" she grumbles, landing on the grass and stepping over the bushes.

"You know what I mean," I coo, walking my fingers up her arm before she abruptly shoves me away. "Ania…"

She just crosses her arms—a bit awkward since her sheath got dented in the rockfall and she has to hold her sword—and shakes her head. "Rome, just shut up so we can tend to your stupid wrist."

"Okay, okay," I sigh, holding my arms up as we get to the mouth of the Cornucopia. While the vast majority of the supplies are long gone, I can still see a wrist support-whatchamacallit near the back.

"What are you waiting for?" Ania grumbles, nudging me with her knee toward the thing.

"All right, all right! A little pushy today, are we, Ania?" I duck down to enter the horn. "I bet you're just grumpy from losing that battle." I shake my head. "Guess I am, too. I mean, I got beaten by a, what, 15-year-old? I must be losing my touch!"

Ania tsks. "Just have a rematch later."

"Ah! I _could_ do that!" I respond cheerfully, reaching my uninjured hand for the wrapped-up wrist brace. "That's a good idea!" I lean a little further to get the package.

And then there's suddenly a sword sticking out of my chest.

I stare uncomprehending at the blood gushing out from my ruptured heart as the blade is slid back out of my ribs. It takes another second for the pain to register, but once it does, I immediately collapse on the inside curve of the Cornucopia. I end up sliding to the bottom after my blood gathers beneath me.

Here, lying on my back, I can see Ania looking down at me coldly, her newly-bloodstained sword glinting in the sunlight.

"A-Ania…" I choke out, unable to make my lungs work properly enough to form more words.

My district partner just shakes her head. "I always had to respect you for taking that hit for me. But from the very beginning, I have always _hated—your—guts_." She kicks me hard in the stomach, knocking the breath out of me, and I can't seem to keep breathing in.

"Go die, pig," she finishes solidly before turning and walking away from me.

I don't have much of a choice but to obey.

**Fronce Foybon, District 6**

"...just fell off the side of the—Hey! Is he waking up?"

I briefly register that I must have moved as my consciousness continues to fade back in.

"Fronce?"

A throbbing starts up in my abdomen, as well as in my neck and head. But only the pain in my stomach continues to flare as I begrudgingly open my eyes.

I can only make out bleary blurs at first, but by the time my abdomen has reached the point of blazing pain, I can see Igris sitting next to me, a large slash across the front of his shirt but no wound to match it. Amer is close behind him, a tear on his shirt that also lacks damage underneath.

"Hey!" Amer exclaims. "He _is _awake!"

"You don't say," Igris responds sardonically. The blonde turns back toward me. "You've been out for a whole day, so, honestly, we were getting a little worried."

"A whole day?" I respond, voice garbled. I blink, trying to ignore the still-increasing pain in and around my stomach. "Does that mean," I continue, looking Igris in the eye, "poor Amer had to eat more of your cooking?"

Amer instantly bursts out laughing, while Igris frowns grumpily. I can't help but grin a little at his sulkiness. It's about all that brought a little fun to my day back in the training post, and it's about all the enjoyment I'm going to get out here.

Amer's laughter finally dies down enough for the boy to speak. "N-Naw, I just... aha... ate some apples."

"Good," I mumble cheerfully. "Hate for you to get damaged from the horrors he cooks up."

As Amer laughs again, Igris crosses his arms. "I'll have you know my cooking has always been and will forever be completely edible!"

"There's more to the word 'edible' than just 'not poisonous'," I respond, trying not to think too much about the latter part of my rebuttal.

Igris narrows his eyes. "And what might you be implying?"

"Nothing at all," I finish cheerily before the pain from my sword wound finally forces me to stop smiling.

Amer stops laughing quickly and shuffles forward, but Igris holds an arm out in front of him.

"Don't scoot too close," the blonde warns. "He's got enough sand in his wound without you accidentally kicking some more in."

I try to crane my neck down so I can see the aforementioned wound, but all I can make out is a bloodied stretch of shirt and a pile of jacket at my waist.

"Speaking of which," Igris continues, lowering his arm, "we should focus on getting out of this place."

"What? Why?" Amer responds, confused.

"First of all, none of our wounds are patched up as tightly as they should be for us to keep hanging around a bunch of sand with who-knows-what-else mixed in. Just putting our shirts on backward isn't going to keep all of it out."

Well, that explains the tears.

"Secondly," Igris goes on, "injured or not, Ania knows exactly where we are. She's been trained for this sort of thing, so she'll probably recover more quickly than either of us will." He looks at me. "And we all know _you _wouldn't be a match for her at all."

Igris stands up. "So, we're not in travelling condition, but we're in far worse fighting condition. The choice is obvious." He leans to grab one of my wrists. "Amer, get his other one, will you?"

Amer nods, quickly shuffling to stand and seize my other wrist. Between the two of them, they manage to get me to my feet—harder than it sounds when there's nothing to stand on but sand—and Amer volunteers to be the first for me to lean on. Igris gathers up our remaining supplies and leads the way to the crater wall. Amer follows slowly, but he still keeps trying a pace too fast for me to keep up with.

My legs aren't injured, of course. But my core is so damaged it seems every part of me has to be sliced open to cause this sort of pain. And I'm not energetic. I must have lost a lot of blood to be out for a whole day.

This theory is also confirmed by how utterly dizzy I am. If it weren't for Amer, I'd have fallen on my side long before now. I'm still not all that stable, since I have to put my weight on him at an awkward angle to avoid touching his apparent shoulder wound.

But we do manage to get to the crater wall, and Igris—after yelling at Amer for trying to pull me up himself and risking ripping out his stitches—gets me over the wall with some difficulty. I then lean back on Amer, and Igris looks for a decently-graded path for us to follow.

He starts moving ahead, and we're off.


	46. Rapidly Deteriorating

Recommended Listening: Who Are You by The Who

* * *

**Spain Carriedo, District 3**

I wake up to daylight filtering through my eyelids.

I unclose my eyes and immediately wince.

Man, my head _hurts_.

I put a hand to the worst source of throbbing and pull back in surprise when I feel caked-up blood. When was my head bleeding?

"You're finally awake!"

My vision isn't completely clear yet, so I can only make out a blurred outline of a person standing over me. I'm soon able to make out her hazel-eyed glare, and I frown.

"You never woke up for watch last night," she complains, crossing her arms. She looks down at me expectantly, so I finally sit up and say something.

"Who are you?"

The girl falters, surprised, as I rub some more sleep out of my eyes.

"I've had enough of your stupid jokes!" she finally snaps. "So quit messing with me!"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about..." I rub my forehead a little, but it doesn't alleviate my headache in the least. "Really, do I know you?"

Her only response is a smack to my face.

"Hey!" I put a hand to my stinging cheek. "What'd I ever do to you?"

"I said stop messing with me!" she repeats, on the verge of tears. "We're in the middle of the Hunger Games; we don't have time for this!"

"The middle of the what?" I respond, confused.

"The Hunger Games!" she repeats, her voice hysterically high-pitched.

"What are those?"

"A fight to the death on national television," she responds, starting to shake. "And we don't have time to mess with some s-stupid amnesia, so stop it!"

"Eh?" I pause. "Well, I can't really help not remembering things... I think..." I squeeze my eyes shut, but nothing miraculously comes to me. "So, uh... Fill me in. Who are you?"

"I-I'm Lovi," she replies, sitting down next to me and quaking a little. "I'm your ally, so don't kill me."

"Huh? Er, okay..." I cock my head to the side. "Was I planning on killing you?"

"Of course not!" she responds, her voice even higher-pitched. "L-Like I said, we're allies!"

"Okay..." I have a little trouble believing her, but there's not much else I can do. "So… What are we doing now?"

"Trying to stay alive," she answers, her voice back to a more sane pitch but tears sliding down her cheeks. She inhales shakily before going on. "I was g-going to ask you to get more breakfast, but…"

I look at her quizzically. "Well, I can still do that… Where's the kitchen?" I turn my head to look around, cringing at the pain it causes, before I suddenly realise there's nothing in sight even similar to a kitchen. Nothing even similar to _any_ kind of civilization. Just ashes, rocks, and a couple of trees far away.

"Wait… So how are we supposed to get food _here_?" I start, my voice breaking in the middle of the sentence for no apparent reason.

"We have to catch it," Lovi mumbles, shuffling her feet. "Or I guess _I'll _have to catch it, since you probably don't remember anything about hunting."

"Well, I don't, but… I could still try," I reply, vaguely wondering why she sounds so upset. "Do I need to go to the trees over there?" Lovi follows my gaze and nods wearily.

"Let's try it, then," I decide, rocking onto my feet before standing up.

Pain immediately stabs through my skull, and the following wall of dizziness knocks me right back down.

"Aah!" I grit my teeth, but it does not help the pounding and throbbing of my head. "So, uh, Lovi, right? What happened to my head, anyway?" I manage to get out.

Lovi looks at me for a second before turning her gaze away. "You were being stupid, and you tripped and bashed it in on a rock."

"Yeah?" I respond, fighting the urge to put my hand to my wound, since it won't do any good. "Huh. I'll try not to trip again, then."

"Yeah. Don't." Lovi looks worriedly back at her feet, and I wonder when my headache'll die down enough for me to get her some food.

I accidentally move my neck a bit and have to cringe at the onslaught of pain that follows.

I don't think it's going to quit anytime soon.

**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

"Ah-_choo_!"

I curse silently, sniffling not quite so quietly. Of all places to catch a stupid cold!

I guess I _was _out in the pouring rain without shelter for a few hours, but just getting wet doesn't cause colds, does it?

"Ah-choo!"

Well, one way or the other, I have a cold now. And it really, really sucks to be sneezing this loudly, despite trying to muffle it with my shirtsleeve, when my whole strategy is avoiding detection.

So I'm in a bit of a quandary. I need rest to make this go away, but it's too late in the Games for me to be anything but alert. It would probably take several days to recoup, anyway, and who knows if the Games will even last that long?

So I guess I'll still stay awake for the most part. It's not like I can rest and stay well-hydrated—the only available water anymore is collected on the stones, and there's no way I could curl up and sleep over there.

So, I'll have to keep staying awake. I'm still not quite used to it. I spent most of my days at school as nap time, and, so far, most of the days here. But I've been more awake as the Games have continued, and, even though I need the sleep abruptly more now, I'm going to have to keep it up.

Ugh. I'd better not let myself nod off now. Although it's usually a conscious decision, I've never really had to fight the urge before, so this is going to be tricky.

"Ah-choo!"

And that part definitely doesn't help.

**Ania Jerume, District 1**

The sun sets slowly as I finish off my supper. There will be no faces in the sky tonight. Unlike last night. That's when Rome was up there.

I just don't really have much to say about killing him. It's what we're supposed to do here. The audience probably noticed he wasn't getting kills, so even if he had those hordes of girls back in the District behind him, he didn't have any big-time support. He wasn't much of a help to me, for sure. We weren't getting any supplies, so there was nothing advantageous about having an ally.

And there's no reason to be guilty about it. That slash to his neck would have killed him, and I took the damage. Repaid him exactly for that time in training. So we were just two Careers allied with each other. No friendship. No obligations. Just some people trained to kill.

And that's what I did. That's all. Just picked the right time to catch him unaware, and I didn't sustain any damage from it. Everything worked out perfectly.

I have to begrudgingly admit I liked some company, but… Not his. I am much happier to be alone than be hit on by that imp every waking moment.

And that's what I hated about him. He flirts all the time, with everyone, without restraints. It seems like a trivial thing at first, but when I'm in the middle of it, when I get thinking more and more about it… It's _infuriating_! The nerve of the guy! It's just beyond belief.

And that's the technique to use. Learnt it in the Tribute Training Facility. You think you like someone? Just try and you won't. Find something you can't stand, build on it… And eventually you can get mad enough to kill. A pretty good thing to tell your Careers when you know they'll have to kill people they've trained alongside.

So, I'm just acting as I should. Nothing wrong with that. If I ever want to be guilty about this, it can wait until I'm safely out of here. The competition is nearing its end. I don't have time to fret about being a murderer.

I just have to get through this, and then I can do whatever I want.

Packing up my supplies, I start off for the hunt.


	47. Going Crazy

Author's Note: February first is my one-year FF-versary! Did you get me presents?

… No?

…Well, maybe I just shouldn't post another chapter for you!

Oh… Too late.

Well, get me a present later, and we'll call it even, hm?

Recommended Listening: Hysteria by Def Leppard

* * *

**Lovi Vargas, District 3**

The moon shines bleakly on my sleeping ally's face.

It's way past time for his watch. And I'm really sleepy since I didn't get to sleep last night.

I know I could have woken him up then, but... He didn't wake up at first, and he... He really deserves a good night's sleep...

But I honestly think I'm about to drop unconscious one way or the other, and I don't want the two of us to be completely unprotected.

I plod over to where he's sleeping and put a hand on his shoulder. I hesitate.

What if he's lost his memory again? He couldn't remember much of anything yesterday except the existence of kitchens, how to tie his shoes, and—somehow—his sister's name. Pretty much nothing else.

I don't know what's wrong with him, but it just keeps getting worse. What's going to go next? Is he going to forget how to walk? How to talk? What if he forgets how to _breathe_?

I realise I'm hyperventilating and make myself calm down. I-I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions. Maybe it's just a... Just a normal concussion or something... But—but he remembers such random things! Does he have brain damage or something?

I-I don't know! He just keeps getting worse every second I look at him. And we haven't been eating suspicious plants or anything, so whatever happens is _all my fault_. _I _tried to kill him. _I_ dropped the hammer. _I'm _the one that keeps trying to get him to do things when he just needs to be resting, just because I'm too much of a coward to do it myself.

And now I'm trying to wake him up. But it's not the same, right? Because he really needs to be awake, so someone's ready to defend us if another tribute comes along!

I stare at my hand for another few seconds before I finally start shaking his arm. He doesn't respond.

"Spain!" I hiss in his ear, only vaguely realising he might not know his name right now. "Wake up!" Still nothing.

I let go of his arm and start pushing at his shoulder with both hands, jerking him back and forth. He doesn't respond.

"I said, wake up!" I repeat, my guard slipping up enough to elevate my voice to a cry. "It's-it's your watch!"

He still doesn't move.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" I shake him madly, but he doesn't do as much as shift.

Oh, no, oh, no, he's dying! He won't wake up, and this is way harder than I tried last time...!

"Spain? Spain!" I scream, giving up on the shaking and starting to pound my fists on his chest. "Y-You'd better wake up right now, or I'll—I'll..." I trail off as crying overcomes my speech. I continue pounding on his chest, but I still receive nothing in return.

Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, he's going to die and it's _all my fault_!

"Wake up! Wake up, y-you s-son o-of a-a..." I start hyperventilating again, and I can't stop it this time. Finally seeming to understand beating his chest isn't helping anything, I pull my arms away and end up grasping the sides of my head.

He's going to die, he's going to die, and it's all my fault! I killed him! He did everything for me, and I _killed _him! I took his food and erased his memories and killed him!

I look down at him. Still asleep.

"W-Wake up, y-you bastard!" I scream. "Y-You can't do this to me! I-I can't do this to you!' I stand up and start hitting him in the side with my foot. "Wake up, wake up, wake up—!"

"You might not want to be so loud."

With a frightened gasp, I turn around just in time to see the sword enter my neck.

**Amer Jones, District 10**

I pace around the rocks slowly. It's the middle of my watch, but I'm already starting to get sleepy.

I make another tight circle around my allies. Igris, splayed out on a flat, slightly-sloped rock, is snoring slightly, while Fronce, across two flat rocks, is in such a deep sleep it's hard to tell he's breathing.

It's no wonder he'd be exhausted. Getting that injured, only to have to waltz around a mountain right afterward. We stopped a lot, so it wouldn't be enough to kill him or anything, but it was no picnic for any of us.

At least he seems like he's getting a little better. He was plain out of breath for the first couple of hours, but, as the day progressed, he started to recover.

Good. I couldn't stand it if my failure to take down Rome caused his death. I have enough blood on my hands already.

I stop circling when a cannon goes off.

…

Well, nothing _I _can do. I guess I'll just make myself see it as someone else I don't have to kill.

Another cannon fires.

I look up at the sky, although I'm not sure why since it's long past the nightly death toll.

Wonder who those two were. There aren't many left to choose from. Ania, the guys from 3… Were they allied, I wonder? They always ate together in the Training Centre, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything… And then… Me and my allies… Was there anyone else? I can't remember.

Wow. There's not much further to go here. I can't believe how many are dead already.

And this is only one Hunger Games. They've been doing this for years upon years, just as many lives ripped away _every time_. For this kind of thing to happen…

There must be someone out there that's more inhuman than me after all.

I look down at my hands. The glove's still pulled over one of them. It's squeaky clean, since I washed it after the run-in with the Careers, so it shines nicely in the moonlight.

That's about all the "nice" it does.

Well, it's not like I can blame it for what it's been through. I'm the one who smothered it in Vahn's blood. I'm the one who nearly drove it through Rome's neck. I'm the one that sent it here in the first place by murdering another.

No, there's not much of anything I can pin to this. Maybe it would be harder for me to kill without it. Well, that doesn't matter. I killed someone before without it, and, with whatever madness I've developed, I don't think I'd need something refined like this to continue murdering.

With a sigh, I go back to pacing around our mountainside hideout.

I don't have much hope for myself anymore. Yeah, I did a little better with the insanity last time, but… You suppress the urge to kill for two minutes, well, you still go out for blood after two minutes! It doesn't really matter if I can push it down for a while. If I can't push it down for the rest of my life—which, although for all I know could not even be two more minutes, _could_ be a whole lot longer—I'm still gonna go on murdering.

I stare down at my moving feet in an attempt to make myself stop thinking. It doesn't work at first, so I start counting.

It's 24 steps around my friends the first time I tally them.

23 steps to go around them this time. Must have taken bigger steps. And then I take 26 steps around them. Smaller steps.

Hm. Keep this up, and I'm probably gonna go obsessive-compulsive. But who cares? Once you have one major psychological problem, what's wrong with a little more? Not much of a difference between killing people and killing people with exactly ten jabs.

I focus back on the numbers. 23 steps. 24. 24 again—ooh, twice in a row. That's a new one. I make an effort to keep it at 24, but I end up having to take an extra-big step at the end of the lap this time.

"What are you doing?"

I jump a little, not expecting Igris to be awake.

"Uh, keeping myself busy," I respond, stopping my pacing. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"Not that I know of," he yawns, rubbing an eye with the back of his wrist.

"Oh. Well… Sorry if I did."

"All right." He seats himself on one of the rounder rocks. We stay silent for a while before he finally turns to look at me. "Well, are you going to go back to bed or aren't you?"

"Huh?" I look at him for a second before it registers. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, good idea. Thanks."

He shrugs, and I take the place he left me on the flat rock.

I have to count 46 sheep before I start to nod off.


	48. Pros and Cons

Recommended Listening: Medley of Cold As Ice and Hot Blooded by Foreigner

* * *

**Ania Jerume, District 1**

My sword sloshes through the water as I try not to lose my footing on the wet sand.

Looks like that alliance has left.

Oh, well. I think two kills is enough for one night.

It was really easy to get rid of the Threes, though. The girl was already in hysterics—if she weren't she may not have notified me of her presence in the first place—and was completely unprepared. The boy was just asleep, and, while judging from his irregular breathing he may have been circling the drain anyway, I went ahead and slashed his throat open. No reason to avoid crediting another kill to my profile.

The waves lap over my sword, and in a minute, I've scrubbed away the last of the blood. Nice and clean.

I lift the blade out of the water and look around. The alliance left some tracks in the dampened sand, so I know which way they went around the mountain. I could go after them.

But I'm tired. It's been a long day, and it's almost dawn now. I need some rest.

And why shouldn't I get some? I've just gotten two kills. I don't the Capitol would mind me getting a little shut-eye.

This beach isn't the most pleasant place to rest, so I end up clambering over the rocks for a while until I find a reasonably dry rock. Once again, not the most comfortable, but I don't want to keep moving.

I nod off in a matter of minutes.

And then the nightmares begin.

I can't say I wasn't expecting this. It was so bad the night of Rome's death, the second after I woke up screaming, I just refused to sleep outright.

But I have to go through this now. I need rest. Or, at least, I need sleep. Rest isn't going to happen. Not when my subconscious is playing back my murders, warped sinisterly like dreams are so often.

In the first nightmare, rather than simply stabbing Rome through the heart I behead him. The betrayed look on his decapitated head is too much for me to take, and I kill myself.

Next, I'm back in the crater of ash, tiptoeing up behind the loud girl. Just as I start my sword toward her, though, she suddenly turns around, and, instead of her face, I see my own. But I can't stop swinging, and the sword digs through my throat. My consciousness suddenly snaps to that of the dying me, and I struggle to stay alive, but the blood is everywhere, and all I can do is take one last look at the other me's cold face before it all goes black again.

The sequence doesn't stop, no matter how many times I gratefully return to the waking world. My body is too tired for me to stay, though, so I keep having to return to the world of nightmares. To where I kill, I die, I am anyone but myself yet only myself. It just keeps on repeating itself until I finally wrench myself away for the last time.

I need sleep so much. But I'm not going to get it now.

And something tells me I may never slumber peacefully again.

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

We swallow the last of our breakfasts, pack up our supplies, and continue around the mountainside.

I end up stuck with Fronce leaning on me first this time. While it's probably better this way—leaning against Amer, with the damage he took to his shoulder, is not very good—I can't say I completely approve. The slash across my back certainly doesn't feel pleasant, either, but I guess there's not much I can do about that.

We clamber around for about half an hour, various rest stops included, before it slowly dawns on me. I glance over at Fronce, still leaning on me, before putting the back of my free hand against his cheek. It's not even a full second before I feel like I just put my hand on a stovetop.

Fronce pulls away from my hand, looking at me quizzically.

"Fronce, you're hot," I inform him.

"I was well-aware of my attractiveness, but it's nice for you to recognise it."

"Not _that _kind of hot, you twat!" I snap back. "I mean, you've got a fever."

"Do I now?" he responds blankly as Amer looks over, worried.

"Yes," I respond, looking him over. "Here, let me see your wound," I command, setting him back against the rocks. Fronce unfolds his jumper and pulls it away to reveal the stitches. Everything looks fine. No sign of infection.

But I _swear_ there's a sour smell on him somewhere. Strongly not desiring to sniff him over to locate it, I just lean in closer to his waist. It still looks perfectly clean.

"What's wrong?" Amer starts, looking over my shoulder.

"If he has a fever out here, it's probably because of infection," I reply, leaning back with a sigh. "But I can't see anything…"

"Well, maybe it's just a plain old fever," Amer suggests hopefully.

I look at him dubiously, shaking my head. "That's not very likely, when there's no one around from whom he can catch it."

"Yeah?" Amer looks at the wound, but probably doesn't know what he's looking for.

"I don't think it's infected," Fronce finally concludes. "Should we just go ahead and get back to moving?"

"Guess so," I mutter.

"Here, I'll take him this time," Amer decides, taking Fronce's arm and throwing it over his shoulders. Fronce staggers back away from the mountainside, stumbling a bit. Amer catches him before he can fall, and Fronce leans back, shaking his head a little as if to dispel the weariness.

And as his hair shifts, I suddenly notice something.

"Hang on," I say. The two pause, wondering what I could be up to now, as I step over and push back some of Fronce's shoulder-length hair.

Sure enough. His neck is decorated with a thin cut, which is inflamed around the edges and secreting a very small amount of yellowish pus.

Amer, probably not sure what's going on but knowing it can't be good, stares along with me.

"What is it?" Fronce breaths, unable to see.

"Infection," I deadpan, letting go of the hair. I wearily glance at the sky, but no parachutes magically arrive. The last batch of medicine must have sucked the funds dry. Fronce won't be getting any more help.

"What can we do?"

I look back over at Amer, whose eyes are wide with concern.

"Nothing," I mutter. "Just hope nothing becomes of it."

"You sure?" Amer asks desperately.

"Quite sure." I avert my gaze. "We could bandage it up with something, but it wouldn't do much good, seeing as the infection's already gotten in. But there's really no help we can give at this point." I can feel Amer's frightened look. "It's just a small cut, so maybe the infection's not that bad," I say consolingly, not believing a word of it.

Amer nods anyway, oblivious to my lie.

"May as well keep going," I continue. "The infection's not going to go away if we just stand around."

"All right, let's go, then," Amer agrees, looking at Fronce. "You wanna ride on my back for a little while? So you don't, you know, wear yourself out or anything?"

"Sure," Fronce responds absent-mindedly. He takes a second to get onto Amer's back, and then Amer manages to stand up straight again.

"Okay," Amer grunts, grabbing Fronce's ankles, "let's go ahead, then."

I lead the way for a metre or so before Amer already starts to slow down.

"You all right back there?" I call.

"Yeah, yeah," Amer pants. He cranes his neck to look at Fronce. "You're heavy."

"Am I now?" Fronce responds, not as energetic as he's probably going for.

"I'm not surprised," I put in. "You're so obsessed with your cooking, I'm sure you've got some extra weight on you."

"What?" Fronce exclaims. "If any of us is fat, it's you! You actually have enough money to eat like a king every day!"

"That doesn't mean I do," I bring up. Seeing our other ally getting amused, I add, "And why are we excluding _him _from this competition? Amer certainly seems like he'd eat a whole cow every day, if he got what he wanted."

Fronce chuckles, while Amer looks down at his feet, suddenly gloomy.

"What?" I respond. "Can't take a joke?"

Amer scuffs the ground with his foot. "Just... Don't make a joke about that, okay? He looks at me, kind of embarrassed. "I'm sensitive about my weight, okay?"

I stare. "What? How could you be sensitive about—I mean, you're not skinny, but you're from 10! No one around there is a bloody supermodel!"

"Don't you turn this into insulting my district!" Amer responds, half-jokingly, half-not.

"I'm not insulting your district," I scoff, "I'm insulting your stupidity." Amer rolls his eyes, still not looking happy with himself.

"Well," I sigh, "if you _do _need to lose a little weight, I imagine carrying _that_ lug of a guy around'll knock it straight off."

Amer laughs, while Fronce gasps melodramatically insulted.

"How did this even come back to me?" he exclaims as Amer and I go back to walking and laughing.


	49. Rotting Away

Author's Note: Over 200 reviewwwwws~! *twirls around* Thank you all so much for staying with me so far, especially those of you whose favourite characters will no longer appear. You all really make my day.

Recommended Listening: Can't Stand Losing You by The Police

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Greis Karpusi, District 8

I've had a cold for three days. Three entire days.

I don't know what the Gamemakers are doing. There haven't been any cannons recently, so the audience must be itching for some action. By this time, there'd usually be a feast or something to get the tributes together.

Well, now that I think about it, the tables full of food and things have always come out of the ground before. Which means a special compartment had to have been carved into the arena for it to happen. And, from the rush there must have been to get this arena done, they must not have had enough time to throw in a table.

Maybe they were expecting the tributes to miraculously congregate in a crater like the last time this setting was used. It should be obvious by now that's not going to happen, though.

So I imagine they'll be dropping some mutts pretty soon. It's the easiest way to drive the tributes together. Can't stay where you are when a rabid squirrel or something is after you.

I really hope they don't hit me with anything, though. I _have _been staying in the same place, but I have a cold, you know? Most of the idiots in the Capitol, who probably skip work if they get a paper cut, will think that's a perfectly acceptable excuse. And the Gamemakers know I'm willing to work for them. Would they want to risk a perfectly malleable Victor just for a little more entertainment?

Well, they probably would, but... I have to hope for something.

I try to get in a more comfortable position among the prairie tree's branches before nodding off again.

**Amer Jones, District 10**

We just can't seem to find an acceptable piece of shelter. Either we don't find a crater for a very long time, we find one and it's not even actual shelter, or we step into one and get immediately kicked back out by the sheer heat in the place.

I wish we could stop moving around. Sure, I'm in crappy condition from everything I've been through, but, on top of that, there's only so much of carrying Fronce around that we can do in a day. And we're never actually safe on the side of the mountain, no matter who's on watch.

We just need some shelter! Is that so hard?

Well, okay, we could also use some more food—the rationing's gone down to little more than an apple slice per meal—and we could definitely use some medical supplies for Fronce.

You know what? We need stuff for him more than anything. I had my hopes that the infection wouldn't be bad, but... He's getting less energetic by the day, and we have to force him to eat when it's mealtime.

He had better not die. Not only is that unspeakable for him—if he gives in to the infection, it's _all my fault_. Rome stepped away from battling _me _to give Fronce the wounds in the first place, and I'm the one who was stupid enough to use the rest of the disinfectant on the gash in his stomach. The one thing I looked over on him got infected! _How_? I didn't _touch _my own wounds with the stuff, but they didn't get diseased! If someone was going to get infected and die, _it was supposed to be me_!

I kick one of the small stones in frustration, sending it skittering down the mountainside. Igris, weighed down by the ally on his back, has to strain his neck to glance over at me.

"Don't do that," he grumbles. "Thought we were under attack or something."

"Oh. Sorry," I mumble, looking down at my feet.

We clamber around for another few minutes before Fronce, dozing a little on Igris's shoulder, wakes up blearily. He doesn't say anything, which I notice with horror, but keeps his head lifted as we continue.

Something seems to strike him suddenly because he starts laughing softly.

Igris turns his neck a little to see Fronce's face. "What's so funny?" the 5 half-grumbles, half-pants.

Fronce's laughter trails off, leaving him with just a smile. He rests his chin back on Igris's shoulder and says, "So you didn't leave me behind after all."

Igris pauses in his stepping, and I can practically see the gears in his head turning.

I have just enough time to figure out I'm obviously missing something here before Igris starts up walking again.

"Well, of course I didn't leave you," he says quickly "It's-It's not like you're doomed or anything—"

"Igris." Fronce shakes his head slowly and sadly. "The infection's only been getting worse. I can't walk on my own, stand on my own, and today I haven't even the strength to hold on when I'm being carried. You and I both know I'm not going to make it."

"Stop talking like that!" Igris snaps back, picking up the pace a little. "I'm not going to let you die here!" I can hear him trying to keep the frenzy out of his voice.

"Igris, there's not much you can do at this point," Fronce responds, his voice still unnervingly worn.

"Don't you dare die! If you do, I'll—I'll—I'll bloody kill you!"

"I don't think that's an appropriate threat for this situation," I put in.

"Shut up," Igris grumbles, glancing back at Fronce.

The 6, having fallen back asleep, has nothing more to say.

**Ania Jerume, District 1**

This search isn't going well. No tributes over here. Just rocks, rocks, and more rocks.

I get a fleeting feeling that they may have walked out of the crater one way and went back around the mountain the other way. But of the three of them, the 5 is the only one with any brains in him, and... You know, they'd probably be too beaten-up to take that kind of precaution...

The more that I think about it, the more sure I am that's what happened. I've been looking for days, and everything says I should have caught up with them by now. I just went the wrong way, is all.

What a stupid mistake to make. I've been trained for this thing and I still can't put together simple logic. Or at least I can't today.

Or much of any recent days, come to think about it. My brain's completely running on empty with my lack of sleep. I haven't closed my eyes any more than blinking for the last two... three... four... I've lost count. It all just drags on. The sun goes around the sky, I keep moving, nothing else.

I catch myself just before I can stumble over an impeccably badly-placed rock.

Really, my physical condition hasn't been any good, either. I'm beat up from that stupid rockslide that that stupid dead man dragged me into, and I'm still not getting any rest.

I... need... sleep... so, so much. But I'm terrified. I can't take the nightmares. I can't take it. Just two nights of the stuff nearly drove me mad. I can't... I just can't deal with it.

Although I'm about to go mad from lack of sleep, anyway. My mind's already shutting itself down. I'm losing motor control and coherency in thought, and my alertness has gone plain out the window. I don't know how I'm going to keep going on like this.

But I have to. What's the point of killing anyone if it doesn't get me home? If I make it, I'm a Victor; otherwise, I'm just a bumbling murderer.

I won't be that. I know I'm going to win this.

It's just going to be really, really hard.


	50. Not As It Seems

Recommended Listening: Dust in the Wind by Kansas

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**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

The wind blows by softly, stirring my sleeping allies' clothes. The moon is shining brightly, so they're easy to see.

Okay for me, but not so grand if anyone else comes walking by. We're still without shelter, so if we're spotted, we'll have to fight.

I stare up at the moon. It seems like the real thing, but it can't be; there wasn't a moon at the beginning of the Games, so they must have added it in recently.

Could have fooled me, though. Looks just like the real thing.

I shift my legs. The rocks don't make a good chair, and, on top of that, the lack of sufficient food has gotten me a lot bonier than when I first set foot here.

I glance over at our remaining food. Even with the pitiful rations we've been dealing out for the last... almost a week, I believe... we only have two days' left. There's not enough to make a good breakfast for one person, let alone three. We'll go hungrier than we've already been.

It's sort of a new thing to me. Hunger. Never had to worry about it before. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks in-between, were always ready for the taking. And suddenly, it's gone. Now I only have a few feeble bites to split among the lot of us. That horrid, hollow feeling inside isn't going to get any better. For any of us.

I look over my allies again. Fronce still looks the worst-off, but Amer is the thinnest of us at this point. He still has some muscle on him, but it's obvious he's been starving far longer than us.

Suppressing a yawn, I turn to look back at the moon.

I'm still gazing up there when a cannon fires.

I jump a little—time in this place would make anyone paranoid—but quickly regain my composure.

So someone else is gone. Ania? Greis? I think those two are the only others left. I wonder which it was… If they met in battle, I'd say Ania is the survivor—I didn't get this gash across my back because _I _don't know how to fight.

I shift my legs again and cast a look back at my allies—

—Just in time to see the hovercraft claw closing around Fronce.

I stare, frozen, as he's lifted up and away. This does not register. What—What just _happened_? The Gamemakers wouldn't just pluck a random tribute away in a hovercraft. They only do that when the tribute is… is…

I stare at the emptiness where Fronce was, my brain finally putting together the cannon and the hovercraft.

Fronce just died.

Fronce just _died_.

Fronce is… dead?

This statement still makes no sense to me, but I feel an odd pricking at the corners of my eyes, and when I inhale, my breath is shaky.

Fronce is dead.

"Wha' ha'en'd?" comes a sleepy slur that must be Amer. He squints and sits up. "Hey… Where… Where'd Fronce go?" He stares at the empty space, then at me, then back at the space. And then it suddenly seems to dawn on him. The painful shock on his face is far too mirroring of my own mood for me to continue looking at him. I swivel on my rear, turning to face opposite the mountainside. My breathing rate starts to go up, but I can't do a thing to stop it. My vision blurs, so I rub my eyes, but it doesn't help at all.

"This is not a good time to be crying," I mutter to myself, squeezing the bridge of my nose. "Other tributes are out, a-and there's nowhere to h-hide…" I suck in a breath when I sense my voice cracking.

"Don't have to worry about that." I don't look over at Amer, but I can tell he's come closer to me. "If anyone tries to hurt you… I'll take care of it," he finishes quietly, sitting down next to me.

"Y-Yeah?" My first reaction is to spite him for taking away an excuse to not cry—all that's left is that men shouldn't cry—but who bloody cares? I can cry if I want to—my friend just _died_.

I shift my feet a little.

"…My friend," I repeat out loud, finally giving up on trying to keep the tears back. "He was… my friend."

"Yeah," Amer responds, still quiet. "Mine, too."

"No, I-I mean," I respond, beginning to gasp for air, "even—even before here. He always just beleaguered me to no end, and I hated him, but-but he was the best friend I ever had—!" I have to stop for a second to catch my breath. "I-I'm filthy rich; everyone always hated me. Even the few who didn't mind me sitting in luxury while they worked for almost nothing—they never liked my personality." I take a shuddering breath. "He-He harassed me to death, but when I was working around him, I never had to worry about being _all alone_!" I sob loudly for a moment before wiping my nose on my sleeve.

"I-I should just stop talking… I sound like a sentimental idiot…" Gasping for breath a few more times, I bury my eyes in the crook of my elbow.

Rests his hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, dude. No one's gonna think you're not a man just because you grieve for a friend's death."

I don't give him much of a response; I'm too busy trying to bite back the sobs and failing.

Eventually I cry myself out. It's already dawn. But Amer tells me to go back to sleep, anyway.

I'm too overcome to consider anything else.

**Ania Jerume, District 1**

I stare blankly at the sunrise. Must mean I've gone another day without sleep. That's about it.

I should go out and hunt… I've completely lost track of everyone, though. At this point, I'm just wandering around, half-conscious.

Seems like things should be happening quicker than they are. Apparently, someone just died, but no cannons have followed that one. Doesn't sound exciting enough for the audience, at least to me.

Wonder who that cannon was for. My brain isn't functioning enough for me to figure out who must be gone, though, so I'm not going to worry about it.

I stare down at my feet. My shoes are kind of worn. I can feel the blisters, despite what must have long calloused over by now. Kind of hard to prevent that stuff when you're doing nothing but hiking.

Can't complain, though. I can only blame myself for having to roam around aimlessly. My lack of direction stems from my lack of sleep, which is, of course, because I can't force myself to get over killing.

Blaming myself or otherwise, things still aren't that pleasant. I'm out of food—I've been that way for the past few days—it hurts to keep going, I'm sure I'm about to fall off the side of the mountain from general weariness… Just not fun.

But no one ever said the Hunger Games would be fun. Well, no one sane, at least. Kill, starve, wear out, kill some more. I knew it would be this way from the minute I started training. The Games weren't sugarcoated back in the Centre. We still act like it's something worth celebrating, but it's not fun—it's a matter of honour to the District.

Things are taken that way more seriously by 4, and even more by 2, but 1 has its soldiers, too. The Game-broadcasted comment a few years ago on the disorganisation of the place led to some improvements, but a lot still treat it as it shouldn't be. The classes are split, though, so the more committed have chances to properly prove their worth.

And then, after all the training, it's off to the Games. Kill, starve, wear out, kill some more. That's all there is to this dreadful place.

I almost stumble over yet another rock, but manage to keep from tumbling down the mountainside.

And then something peculiar catches my eye. While I doubt I'd notice much of anything at this point, it's hard to miss a bright green, furry thing with an unnaturally drill-shaped tail.

"Hi." I stare at the little mutt, and it stares back. Not sure why I was expecting more of a response than that.

The mutt continues to look for a second, and then hops down one of the stones. I look at it for a second before taking a step toward it. It jumps down another few stones and looks back at me. I slowly follow. It continues to lead, and I continue after it.

Seems like I'm supposed to follow this little guy, I guess. It hasn't attacked me, so if it's here to give the audience a show, it's because of another tribute.

Or it might be leading me straight into a trap.

I don't really care at this point. Just, _something_, happen.


	51. Give Yourself Away

Author's Note: Sort of cut this chapter off at an awkward place. Apologies.

Recommended Listening: With or Without You by U2

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**Greis Karpusi, District 8**

I unclose my eyes drowsily. The sun above me says it's about noon. Guess I slept through just about the whole morning.

Not like there's anything else to do. Nibble on what remains of my supplies. Sneak away every once in a while to get some more water. Complain occasionally about how loud sneezes are. Go back to sleep, and hope your luck doesn't run out.

I shift, the branches around me trembling slightly. Wincing at my soreness, I stretch a bit. Crooked, rough branches don't make a pleasant mattress. While I've done tons of sleeping with desks, books, or gravel pavement for a pillow, I can honestly say I've never nodded off on something so uncomfortable. Between this and the cold, I feel like I've been beat up pretty thoroughly.

But I won't say anything. I haven't _actually _been beaten up, nor have I run into any tributes I didn't summarily take care of. I'd hate to be ungrateful for the luck coupled with my strategy.

I move around a little more, even though I should know by now I'm not actually going to get comfortable. My shield of view shifts just enough for me to make out someone climbing around.

I freeze, recognising Ania. She stumbles along, staring at something by her feet that I can't see from behind the branches. And then I realise she's coming toward this crater.

Well. Can't say I expected my luck to last much longer, anyway.

I reach over a few branches to get a hand around my weapon. Ania draws nearer, ostensibly heading straight for me, but still seeming oblivious—she doesn't look toward the tree at all.

At least, not until she's already in the crater. She casts a last glance to the ground behind her and then turns around.

I hold my breath as she treads steadily further into the prairie. She's slightly more alert now, although she still looks like she's about to fall asleep. She's not likely to notice me, but I'll still be ready.

I tighten my grip on the handle as she stalks forward.

And then I feel an all-too-familiar tickling in my nose.

I clench my teeth, cursing inwardly. Just don't sneeze yet, I will myself. She'll be here in a few minutes, and then I can ambush her. But if she's aware of my presence beforehand…

I bury my nose in my sleeve, unable to keep it in any longer. Luckily it's stifled, and it looks like Ania's not aware enough to hear such a soft sound.

Good. All I needed was—

"Ah-choo!"

I freeze in horror, wondering how exactly my arm decided to move away without my permission.

I don't have much time to wonder before Ania looks right at me.

Although I curse the thin foliage of this tree, I don't make an effort to move. If I'm lucky, my weapon still shouldn't be in her range of sight, and she'll think I'm defenseless.

I can't tell whether or not she's seen my blade, but either way, she's picked up the pace significantly. She'll be right under me in a matter of seconds.

Pulse roaring in my ears, I shift, ready to spring out and attack. Ania takes another few steps, and I pounce.

I bring my weapon around hard, jamming the blade through her throat—

—Just as she shoves her sword through my ribs.

She topples over onto the grass with me in tow, blood swiftly puddling up beneath us. I half-heartedly toss my weapon to the side as Ania struggles for her last breath. There's a sickening gurgling sound, and she stops breathing. The cannon fires.

But I can't get out of the way for the hovercraft. If I let this sword slip out of me, I'm dead. But my heart can seal around it, if I just manage to keep it in me.

I can feel it sliding, so, so slightly. I can't lean over enough to grab the hilt, so I'm forced to stop the movement by grabbing the sharp sides of the sword. Letting out a hiss of pain, I shakily wrap my fingers around the face of the sword, blood trickling down the sides. With a grunt, I try to pop the handle out of Ania's grasp.

But I can't. Even though her grip has gone limp, the handle is still firmly tucked under her hand.

My arms trembling with the effort of holding the heavy sword with a weak grip, I lean a bit so I stand on one foot. I use the other to stomp on her hand. The fingers shift slightly, but I can't get the sword out from underneath them.

I feel my hands starting to slip. There's just too much blood, everywhere, to keep a good grip.

I stomp harder, finally making her let go. My arms shake from the effort of holding the sword up, so I hurry to step away from the corpse and find a place to kneel down.

One step. I feel the metal slipping under my hands, no matter how hard I try to squeeze. Another step. I try to dig my fingers in in a last-ditch effort to stop this from sliding away.

And then I sneeze. The sword finally glides out of my chest. I bring my arms closer, slashing them up, to make it stop, but the metal completely exits my heart.

I stare blankly at the bloody weapon clattering to the ground before I collapse after it.

So... I lost after all...

My consciousness swims away.

**Amer Jones, District 10**

I'm finishing off the last of my ration when the cannon fires.

I try to ignore it, though. That's pretty much what I've been doing the whole Games. Cannons, faces in the sky. They don't mean anything if you don't let them.

But then another cannon fires.

I find myself looking around, but I'm not sure why. Sounds like someone's going on a killing spree, I guess. Not many left to kill at this point, though.

...How many _are_ left? I was never keeping track. I know we got into the final eight, but...

"Igris?" The blonde looks up at me. "How many..."I trail off.

Igris's gaze wanders a bit to the left as he counts. Then he starts chuckling softly.

"What?" I ask slowly, a feeling of dread rising in my stomach.

He shakes his head and looks me in the eye. "We're the only ones left."

"Yeah...?" I look back at him, heart sinking.

We're the only ones left. No one else.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I thought... I guess I thought I'd go down protecting my only remaining friend, but still inflict enough damage on the enemy it would be easy to take her out.

Well, whatever may have happened didn't. It's just down to us.

"So..." I start, exhaling. "You gonna kill me?"

Igris meets my gaze evenly. "What makes you think I would do that?"

"It's the only way for you to get out alive." I shift a little. "So is it easier to stab me through the heart or the brain with that rapier?"

"Doesn't matter," Igris responds. "Amer, I'm not going to kill you."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not." He looks down. "I can't kill a person, Amer. You aren't that sharp, but surely you realised it would have been a much better idea to kill the Careers when we had them cornered. I just threatened them because I could—not—do—it." He shakes his head. "And if I can't bring myself to kill monsters like them, how in the world am I going to kill you?"

Despite myself, I burst out laughing. "What? You don't think I'm a monster? Igris, I probably killed just as many people as they did. I drove my glasses through one guy's throat, completely ripped out another one's internal organs... I've even led my own friends to their deaths." I realise I'm shaking, so I wrap my arms around my knees. "Believe me, I'm worse than the lot of them."

"Were you ever really wanting to kill any of them?"

"I must have wanted to kill that 9 pretty badly, to do what I did."

"But you weren't sane then," Igris points out.

"What's that have to do with anything?" I demand.

"You're sane the vast majority of the time, so the sane part of you should be what's up for debate here. So did you ever actually want to kill?"

"No..."

"For that matter," Igris continues, "have you done _anything _that you just wanted to do?"

"Of course I have! Like, wanting to be around friends and stuff..."

"All right, answer me this: how many times have you done something in the Games only for yourself?"

"Plenty."

"Name one."

"Well, that'll be easy." I cross my arms, thinking. "Uh..." Igris raises an eyebrow. "I'm still thinking! Here, let's start at the beginning. Uh..." I stare blankly at the ground, trying to come up with something.

Igris laughs, shaking his head. "Face it. You can't think of a single selfish thing you've done!"

"Doesn't mean anything," I grumble stubbornly.

"You're an exemplary human being, Amer. I am not going to kill you." He looks down, mind back on the more urgent subject of the day. "And I am right to assume you're not going to kill me?"

"Of course!"

"We're at a sort of a stalemate, then, aren't we?" he sighs, crossing his feet. "Well, if we don't figure something out soon, the Capitol will choose for us."

I nod.

But I've already chosen.


	52. Last Words

Author's Note: This chapter turned out _way _longer than it was supposed to be. Oh, well. It's the, uh, grand finale, eh? It can get a little extra screen time...

Recommended Listening: Wheel In The Sky by Journey

* * *

**Amer Jones, District 10**

I reach over and grab my glove, slipping it on silently.

I must have not thought it would come to this. But it has.

I'm going to commit suicide.

My index finger blade hovers over my left wrist.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I'm about to die. But what else am I supposed to do? If I don't die, Igris has to.

And I don't care what he says. Sure, I'm a good person normally. _I still killed people_. _People_! More than one! If one isn't inexcusable enough...! No, I deserve to die. And I'm going to.

Still nerve-wracked, I dig the claw into my wrist just below the thumb. The pain makes me wince a little, but it's okay. It'll be over as soon as I want it to be.

I start to carve my way toward those faint, blue lines under my skin.

And suddenly, unwarranted, my brother pops into my head. He's watching this. Him, my parents, all of my friends... I'm forcing them to watch me kill myself.

But-But they understand, don't they? I'm a murderer. I shouldn't be allowed to go home.

...What if it was my brother up here, and I was watching?

...

I would never let him. I'd be screaming my heart out at the television to not do it. I... I wouldn't care if he killed anyone... He's still my brother... I'd just want him back home...

And if he did kill himself... I would hate it. Hate the Capitol for doing this to him. I might never get over it...

Yet I'm forcing him to be the victim here? I'm forcing him, my mother, my father, all of my friends to watch me cut my own wrists? How-How could I do that to them?

But I-I have to! If I don't die, Igris does.

But if I do die, everyone at home dies inside...

How am I supposed to choose? _How am I supposed to choose_?

"Choose what?"

I snap my gaze up at Igris, realising I must have said it out loud. With a sigh, I turn back to stare at my unfinished work. "Choose between... Between you and your family... and mine." I look up at him hopefully. "What's your family like, Igris?"

My friend crosses his legs. "Well... I have a mother, a father, and a little brother," he says, counting them off on his fingers.

"Same," I respond, feeling relieved that he has as much to lose as I do. "Except my brother's only younger by, like, five seconds."

"Huh." Igris puts his hands in his pockets. "Are you close?"

"Yeah, definitely."

He laughs a little. "I guess that's sort of a stupid question, anyway." He looks up at the sky. "Just about every district family is close-knit, with everything they have to go through together." He shakes his head. "I always liked living easily, but now I can't help but wonder how much closer my family would be if we didn't have all that money."

"You're... not close?" I respond dumbly.

"No, not really. We don't pay much attention to each other. Don't have to." He closes his eyes for a moment, resting his hand on his rapier sheath. "You know... You have a lot more to lose than I do, you're a better person than me... I'll just run myself through right now."

"Don't you _dare_!"

His hand barely grazes the handle of his sword before I grab his wrist so hard my fingers start to dig into his skin.

And then he laughs. "See what I mean?" I stare at him blankly. "I even _mention _killing myself, and you stop me before I can blink. But you're over there a-a centimetre away from suicide, and I do _absolutely nothing_! I honestly don't understand why you think you're the worse of the two of us."

Realising it was just a sick test, I unclamp my hand and let my arm fall to my side. "Why?" I echo. "I told you, _I have killed people_! You have not! I am the one that deserves to die here!" Gritting my teeth in disgust, I take off the glove and throw it to the ground. "But I just can't do it. I can't force everyone back home to watch me kill myself." Elbows on my knees, I cradle my forehead in my hands resignedly.

"So..." Although I'm facing the ground, I can hear Igris pacing slowly. "You will not kill me or yourself. I will not kill you or myself." The rocks crunch softly as he sits back down. "At least... Not intentionally. Right?"

I look back up quizzically, having no idea where he's going with this. "Yeah..."

"So, if it's purely by chance, neither of us will have anything to regret about it."

"I guess?"

He puts a hand in his pocket. "Then how about we play a little Russian roulette?"

**Igris Kirkland, District 5**

Amer stares at me for a second before deciding to play Captain Obvious. "But we don't have a gun."

"No, we don't." I try not to roll my eyes as I pull out the little packet. I hold it up. "But we have something just as deadly."

Amer squints at the packet, trying to make out the letters. "What's KCN?"

"Poison." I lower my arm, examining the white packaging. "I think my sponsors wanted me to kill..." My throat tightens up a little. "To kill Fronce with it." I exhale, looking back at Amer. "But we have better use for it now."

Stepping over to our supply pile, I poke through what we've bothered to keep until I find the two matching bowls. I set them down on the rocks with a clack and keep my fingers wrapped around the packet.

"So," I start, seating myself again, "I have a good idea of what we should do, but I'll need a little help." I look up at the sky. "Some water, and a turntable of some sort, please. Sponsors?" Nothing comes down. "Or perhaps the Gamemakers wouldn't mind giving some assistance," I add. "This still ends with one of us dead, so I don't see why there would be any objection from you."

I continue looking up, and, just when I start to think my request has fallen on deaf ears, a parachute comes floating down. Amer catches it, the cloth billowing over the bottom of the circular turntable and the container of water above it. He peels away the cloth, setting everything else down next to the bowls. Locating a flatter part of the rocks, I position the turntable carefully and set the bowls on it 180 degrees apart.

Amer continues to patiently watch as I pour equal amounts of water into each bowl. Then his curiosity finally gets the better of him.

"So what exactly is the plan?"

"We'll leave everything to chance... And this," I respond, holding up the packet again before tearing it open. I start to slowly pour it all into one of the bowls. "Potassium cyanide. Dissolves in water..." I get ready to stir it in with my finger, but I'm afraid the dirt accumulated on my hands would give away which bowl isn't just water. I instead decide to use the rest of the water to get scrubbed clean before starting to mix. "Colourless," I continue, "and, of course, deadly." Satisfied with the lack of particles remaining in the poisoned bowl, I pull my hand out and dry it on the parachute.

"So..." Amer, the pieces coming into place for him at last, looks down at the turntable. "We just spin it and see who ends up with the poison?"

"That's the gist of it," I respond with a nod. "I don't know how well this spins, so there's no way I could rig it. No murder. Just a 50-50 chance."

Amer looks back up at me. "But... That means you could die, too."

I sigh, moving the empty water container out of the way. "I know, but... Neither of us is going to run a blade through himself, you refuse to kill again, and..." I rest my fingers on the edge of the turntable. "I guess I'd really rather put my own life on the line than murder you in cold blood, Amer."

"...Yeah?" Amer smiles sadly. "Thanks."

"So..." I drum my fingers on the turntable. "I know it's poisonous, but I don't know how quickly it works." I meet Amer's gaze. "If we have any last words, now's the time to get them out."

"Guess so..." Amer looks around, like he's trying to find one of the practically-invisible cameras, before resigning and looking at the bowls instead. "Well... If I die... I want to make sure they all know I'm sorry first. Everyone whose children, whose loved ones I've murdered... I-I shouldn't have done any of it. I'm—I'm—I'm just beyond sorry. And... Sorry to my friends and family, too. They shouldn't have had to watch me turn into this..." He drags his gaze back up to me. "Anything you need to say?"

I look at him evenly. "Well... Amer, if you're the one who gets out alive... Don't blame yourself for it. I'm doing this willingly. And don't blame yourself for... for Fronce's death, either. If I catch you beating yourself up for things that aren't your fault, I'll haunt you till the day you die, understand?" He nods. I lean back with a sigh.

Hadn't really thought about last words much. Only once in these Games have I really believed I could die. And if I got sliced open by the Careers, I wouldn't get any last words.

But there's a 50-50 chance these won't be my last words, anyway...

"Oh, and, Amer?" I add. "In that scenario, when you're on that victory tour and you get to District 5... Go find my little brother and cuff him over the head a little. I still haven't properly punished him for breaking my Beatles CD."

Amer doesn't seem quite as amused as I was expecting, but he nods.

"All right, then," I mutter to myself, pushing on the top of the turntable for a moment before making it spin.

I look back up at Amer, making sure I don't somehow keep track of which bowl is which. "And whichever we get, no matter what we think, we'll drink it all." He nods fervently.

The turntable continues sluggishly when I look back at it, and then slowly comes to a stop. Although not straight in front of me, one bowl is clearly on my side, so I pick it up. Amer follows suit, and we hold the bowls close to our lips. Trying to calm my nerves, I count to three before tipping the bowl and quaffing the liquid fast as I can.

But it does nothing to hide the acrid tang burning down my throat.

Shaking, I set the bowl back down while Amer finishes swallowing. He checks the scene, and then places his bowl there as well.

"So..." he starts cautiously. "It's... tasteless, too?"

Unable to meet his gaze for this, I look down. "I'm afraid not."

By the time this registers for him, my chest has started to tighten up, making it hard to breathe.

"No—no-no-no-no!" he shouts frantically, standing up and rushing over. I collapse back against the rocks as he seizes my shoulders. "This wasn't supposed to happen! This—This—" He breaks off with a horrified choking sound.

Spots dance around my vision as the struggle for breath becomes harder.

But before my vision fades out completely, I spot another parachute. Amer sees it as well and hurries to catch it, presenting me with the cargo after some confused scrutiny.

It's my CD, the crack foolishly but meticulously wrapped with clear tape.

My last breath is spent on laughter.


	53. End Result

Author's Note: Well, this is it, everyone. The end of the sequel. This series won't become a trilogy, but I expect to write some tie-ins. So keep an eye out if you're interested.

And I'm not lying when I say I seriously can't thank you all enough for your support. Your faves, watches, and of course your reviews have always cheered me up. Thanks a million for taking all the time to interact, and to read my ramblings in the first place. :)

For those of you who do not want to see the list of the dead, just skip the following and go to the bold text.

Celladora Talith, 15, D12 (Vahn)  
Perdita Adva, 12, D5 (Wiremu)  
Dardana Angstrom, 16, D2 (Vash)  
Meghna Cinge, 14, D10 (Vash)  
Laine Berna, 13, D7 (Taberah)  
Wireumu Sachy, 17, D4 (Sve)  
China Wang, 15, D6 (Fronce)  
Vash Zerlan, 17, D2 (Pinecones)  
Taberah Atalanta, 16, D4 (Greis)  
Sadik Ottoman, 17, D8 (Amer)  
Raivis Lithu, 16, D12 (Vine)  
Eston von Bock, 16, D7 (Vahn)  
Vahn Larus, 18, D9 (Amer)  
Finni Vaina, 16, D11 (Mutt)  
Sve Oxenstierna, 17, D11 (Fire)  
Natalya Larus, 17, D9 (Fire)  
Rome Gnaeus, 18, D1 (Ania)  
Lovi Vargas, 14, D3 (Ania)  
Spain Carriedo, 18, D3 (Ania)  
Fronce Foybon, 16, D6 (Rome)  
Ania Jerume, 16, D1 (Greis)  
Greis Karpusi, 16, D8 (Ania)  
Igris Kirkland, 16, D5 (Poison)

* * *

**Zed Ventril, District 10**

I can't stand my mentors.

There are only two, one of which is Monifa, who won twenty-seven years ago. She's too drugged-out all of the time to do anything but sit around and drool.

And then there's Amer. He won four years ago. And he's… just… irritating, I guess would be the word. Right now he's enjoying his train dinner about five-hundred decibels more than anyone else at the table.

I poke at my own plate hungrily. The Capitol food is amazing. I have no idea why Amer's over there eating a pile of hamburgers instead.

I have no idea how any of him works, for that matter. He did nothing but mope about his friends and how he murdered people in cruel, unusual ways during the Games. But he's somehow gotten completely over it. Throw a name of one of his dead allies at him, he hardly blinks. I don't understand at all.

"What's eating you, Zed?" It takes a moment for the food-garbled words to register, and I look up at the speaker.

"Not much," I respond coolly. "Just wondering exactly how you managed to get over your Games."

"Huh? Oh, that?" He actually takes a second to swallow. "Well, it's all in the past, and there's no changing it, so it won't do me any good to think about it. I just clear my mind of everything that's gone." He crosses his burly arms proudly. "I can't even remember what I had for lunch today!" He looks down at his plate. "Although I'm assuming it was hamburgers, since that's pretty much all I eat."

I narrow my eyes. "So you don't remember any of it?"

"Nope." He starts on the next burger.

"None of them? None of the people you killed? None of the people you called friends, whom you dragged to their deaths?" I continue, voice rising.

"No idea what you're talking about," Amer replies dismissively.

I stop talking in disbelief. There's just no freaking way…

As he continues eating, saying something half-incoherently to the district escort, I suddenly get an idea. Trying to recall the sound of that voice as best I can, I ready my throat.

"I can't understand a word you're saying!"

Amer immediately chokes a little, coughing out some of the fragments and doing a poor job of covering up his mouth.

"So you _do _remember!" I respond victoriously, getting the reaction I was aiming for.

"What're you talking about?" Amer wheezes, reaching for his drink.

I cross my arms. "That was my dead-best impersonation of Mr. Igris Kirkland."

Amer quaffs some of his fizzy drink and looks at me. "Don't know who that is," he insists.

"Oh, so you've forgotten him?" I snarl, unable to keep in my spite. "The guy _died _for you, and you won't even do him the justice of _thinking _about him!"

"I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking about," Amer says, setting his drink back down hard enough to rattle the wineglasses about the table.

I glare for another long moment before dragging my gaze back to my food. "You disgust me," I growl under my breath.

The rest of the meal is nice, the only chatter between the escort, my district partner, and our resident monster Amer. After that, we're sent off to our rooms to do whatever we feel like until it's time to go to bed.

I end up watching some stupid Capitol show involving really weird magic before I finally decide to catch some z's.

Thankfully shutting the television off, I get into some provided sleepclothes, pull the covers over, and close my eyes.

But I can't get to sleep.

There's some stupid clacking noise, clanging over and over from somewhere behind the left wall. I roll over to glare at it. It unsurprisingly doesn't stop.

I thought these trains were supposed to be nearly silent. Admittedly, I didn't hear anything before, but I wasn't trying to sleep then...

With grumpy resignation, I throw my covers back off and walk barefoot out of my room. The clanging of metal grows a little louder, and as I walk to my left, it grows still. It only starts to fade once I'm about a meter past Amer's door.

I pause and back up, squinting at the door in the lack of light. So Amer's doing this. Figures that he'd be ignorant enough to not realise this could keep people awake.

I bang on his door loudly, and the clanking stops abruptly. Some footsteps thud over, and with a click, the door is opened. My eyes have to adjust to the light pouring from the room before I can see anything more than a silhouette.

He looks down at me—I'm a good ten centimeters shorter than him—and lowers his arm from the doorknob. "Hey. Am I, uh, keeping you awake?" he asks, voice softer than what I'm used to.

"Duh." I frown. "The crap are you doing in there, anyway?" I try to duck over to see behind him. When my attempt fails, he backs into his room, allowing me to make out the contents: a thus-far unused bed and loads of exercise equipment. That explains the noise. And a little bit of how buff he is.

"Did you not think clanking around like that would wake people up?" I ask scornfully. "Oh, or maybe someone's told you before, but you _forgot _about it!"

He casts his gaze down, perplexing me by looking genuinely upset. "Okay, listen..." He pauses, scuffing the floor with his foot to buy a little time. He looks back to my eye level. "You know I don't really forget everything."

"Again, duh," I reply, not willing to fall for his vulnerable act.

"And they don't deserve to be forgotten. Any of them. But—But I'm selfish. Thinking of them makes me miserable, so I _try _to forget about them." He puts his elbow against the doorframe and leans on it. "I got out lucky, though. I'm not genius material, if you know what I mean... My brain's bad enough at multitasking I don't have to destroy it with drugs or alcohol first. I just have to get involved in something distracting enough, and, bam, they're gone for a while. And the Capitol's got plenty of distracting things to throw at me, so it works out pretty good a lot of the time..." He crosses his feet. "But... Sometimes... No matter how hard I try, I can't get them off my mind... And that's when I work out obsessively... Wear myself out so much I can barely think of anything... And, well, as you can tell—" with a grin that doesn't reach his eyes, he puts a hand over one of his biceps, which is bigger than most Careers'—"that happens a _lot_." The fake smile fades back away from his face, and he lets his arm drop.

Exhaling, he continues. "And... you're right. They deserve better memorial than this. But—But I can barely stand to think about them. Sadik, V-Vahn... I murdered them with my own hands... I saw their broken families... Vahn's mother... She died of grief before I even came around for the Victory Tour..." His breathing gets a little louder, and he sounds surprisingly close to keeping tears down. "A-And my friends there... They're just as dead, and half of them are my fault, too. I could have stopped Raivis from running. There's no way Eston would have gotten ambushed like that if I didn't lead him off against his will. And—I know he told me not to blame myself for it, but—I don't care if it was up to chance. It's still my fault that Igris died. We would have never started up that turntable if I just could have been strong enough to kill myself... And Fronce... I was the only one with disinfectant, and I completely looked over what became the death of him... It was my fault he got that wound in the first place, since I didn't kill Rome..." He looks down, clenching a fist. "If I knew that would happen... I would have ripped that son-of-a-gun's throat out right then and there, I don't doubt it..." He slumps a little. "I still don't have confidence in my own sanity. Sure I didn't have any problems before the Games, and I haven't had any since, but... But I'm scared... I'm scared to death of myself." He looks back up at me, and I try to stand my ground despite the misery in his eyes.

"So now you know," he finishes, voice hollow. "I always try to put on a happy face... For the Capitol, for my family, and for myself. If you'd really rather see me... see me like this all the time, I could do it." He scrunches his mouth to the side a little. "But if you win and come back, you'd better believe I'm not going to keep this up." He looks at me, awaiting an answer.

"No, you can be... be cheerful," I respond quietly. "I just... I didn't know."

Amer looks at me neutrally for a second before putting weight back on his feet and crossing his arms. "Well, I didn't mean to get you all depressed." Shaking off his mood, he grins. "You wanna go bug the Avoxes for a midnight snack?"

"Sure..." I do my best to smile back, although I'm unable to match the suddenness of his mood change. "Let's do that."


End file.
